


The Android and the Firefly

by intangible_girl



Series: The Android and the Firefly [2]
Category: Dragon Ball
Genre: Coming of Age, Cross-Posted on FanFiction.Net, First Crush, Gen, Marron and Uncle Seventeen bonding time, Road Trips, Uncle-Niece Relationship, Weekly Updates, marron gets to be a character yay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-22
Updated: 2018-07-24
Packaged: 2019-05-10 05:29:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 24,098
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14730852
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/intangible_girl/pseuds/intangible_girl
Summary: Android Seventeen makes good on his promise to take Marron on a road trip. All she's hoping for is a chance to get away from her overbearing parents. All he's hoping for is to let her have a little fun. Both of them get more than they bargained for.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to gizmo-gal over on ff.net for the beta work!

Marron tilted her head this way and that, seeing how she looked from different angles in the floor length mirror in front of her. Her bangs fell neatly across her forehead and her pigtails trailed down her back, held in place by red hair ties. She was satisfied with her hair, but though the cargo pants, t-shirt and boots she wore were suitable for adventuring, they weren't very fetching. She puckered her lips in annoyance before giving herself a bright smile and turning away from the mirror to bound downstairs, determined to be cheerful for her parents.

“You look ready to wrestle a T-rex,” her father said, picking her up by the waist and swinging her around. She laughed in spite of herself, but she slapped lightly at her father's arms, desperate to make him put her down before she lost all semblance of dignity. He did, and her eyes went to her mother before she could stop herself. Eighteen was standing next to the couch, arms folded over her stomach, looking placid, though Marron knew her well enough to know she was agitated.

“Do you have all the capsules Bulma gave you?” she asked. Marron sighed.

“Yes, mom.”

“You can call us any time and we'll come get you.”

“I know, mom.”

“Make sure you eat enough. My brother doesn't always remember that sort of thing.”

“Mom, I'll be fine!” Marron exclaimed, her exasperation tending toward anger. “I'm not going to the _moon_!”

Her mother narrowed her eyes ever so slightly and turned her head away. There had been a growing tension between the two of them lately, Marron's normally easy-going temper turning sour at the slightest provocation. Krillin, who was baffled and helpless in the face of his two favorite women in the world not getting along, took his daughter's shoulders in his hands. They were now the same height, a somewhat recent development, so he had to fight the instinct to kneel down to look her in the eye.

“Your mom is just worried about you. We both are. We know you'll be fine with your Uncle Seventeen but we just can't help ourselves. You're our precious little girl, Marron.”

Marron squirmed in discomfort. Ever since the incident with Vegeta, her parents, especially her mother, had been overprotective to a degree she found stifling and humiliating. The way they fussed over her felt like she was back in diapers, about to crawl over to something dangerous. She was almost eleven years old, but the way her mother treated her lately made her feel about one and a half. Aside from being lots of fun, the road trip her uncle had planned was going to be a welcome respite from such overbearing treatment. _He_ never made her feel like a baby.

After a long, sullen silence from his daughter, Krillin slowly lowered his arms, frowning but unable to guess at what to say. All three of them were relieved to finally hear a knock on the front door.

“Uncle!” Marron cried, bounding over to the door. She opened it to reveal Seventeen, his overcoat slung over one shoulder and the kerchief he normally wore around his neck stuffed into his pants pocket. He grinned at his niece.

“Phew,” he said, stepping inside. “It's too hot this far south.”

“No it isn't,” Marron contradicted, skipping beside him, “You're just used to it being cold up in the mountains.”

She stopped in her tracks, looking back and forth between her mother and her uncle, who were sharing some sort of look.

“Take care of her,” Eighteen said, voice colder than the mountains Seventeen lived in. He met her gaze steadily.

“Of course,” was all he said. He glanced down at Marron.

“You ready, lightning bug? Got your capsules?”

“Yup!” she answered cheerily, unaware of her mother muttering, “She doesn't sass him when _he_ asks.”

“Remember, you have a month before we come looking for you, okay?” Krillin said, giving his wife a comforting squeeze on the elbow as he moved toward Marron. “One more hug for the road, firefly?”

Marron was not so exasperated with her father that she would refuse a hug, though she pulled out of it as quickly as she could. She glanced at her mother, secretly hoping she wouldn't also insist on a hug. Sure enough she merely gave her daughter a nod.

“Be careful,” she said, and Marron nodded back.

“I will.”

She looked out the still open door, and for the first time, despite having gone out that door countless times in her life, she was suddenly aware that beyond its threshold lay the entire world. It appeared to stretch out before her endlessly, the horizon another threshold to cross, leading to yet another horizon that was itself a threshold, and another and another. She could spend her whole life finding new horizons and never find her way back to this one.

All this crossed her mind in a moment, and after a small shiver went down her arms, she stood a little taller and strode out the door like it was nothing.

“Come on, uncle!” she called, “Let's go!”

* * *

Almost a minute into the boat ride away from the island Marron realized Seventeen was going at a granny pace. Although she had never been in a boat with him before, she was sure he would have taken the chance to rev the engine and speed away as fast as the boat could go. As it was, he wasn't even making much of a wake. She glanced up at him quizzically.

“Why are you going so slow?” she asked. He looked down at her, then flicked his eyes back to shore briefly and winked. Marion grinned as she realized he was putting on a show for her parents. This was exactly why Seventeen was her favorite uncle. She refrained from fidgeting as long as they were within sight, but the second Kame House dipped behind the horizon, her uncle opened up the throttle and she let out a whoop of joy that he answered with one of his own.

According to the dragon radar, the closest dragon ball was on an island a few hundred miles from the house, and they made it to shore by late afternoon. When they found the ball it was stuck in a small crevice between two rocks. All Marron had to do was reach down and pluck it out of the ground like a strange fruit. Seventeen let her brag about the fact that her hands were small enough to fit and his weren’t with an indulgent smile on his face.

“I mean, what would you have done if I weren't here?” she asked teasingly, and then immediately sobered as she realized that an awkward rock formation would hardly have inconvenienced her super-powered uncle.

“No, you did good,” he said, after the silence began to stretch, but he could instantly tell he had only made things worse. They walked on in an awkward silence, but by the time they reached the rocky shore Seventeen had had an idea.

“Hey, remember I promised you I'd teach you to shoot?” he asked, slinging down the bag that held their capsules and pulling out a case. Marron's face lit up, somberness immediately forgotten. He gave her an answering grin and popped his rifle, snatching it out of the air with a practiced ease that never failed to impress his niece.

They went through the basics of gun safety (“always assume it's loaded, never point it at anything unless you intend to shoot it, keep your finger off the trigger until you're ready to fire,”) and then went through an overview of how the gun worked, how to load it, proper technique; and only when Marron could repeat everything back to him did he let her hold it.

“Okay, aim for that rock over there,” he told her, crouching behind her to help her sight. She relaxed, taking her time to aim the way he'd told her, exhaled, and squeezed the trigger. Even through the ear protection Seventeen had belatedly remembered, the noise was almost deafening. Ears ringing, heart pounding, breath unsteady, she slowly lowered the gun.

“Wow,” Seventeen breathed, straightening up and staring at the rock that now had a large chip in it. “That was pretty good for a first try, bug.”

He looked down to see Marron grinning ear to ear, her shoulders shaking with excitement. She lifted her head to meet his gaze, eyes shining.

“That was awesome!” she cried. Seventeen couldn't help returning her grin, pleased that she hadn't been scared, and more pleased that he had been successful in distracting her. He let her shoot to her heart's content until the sun went down, and then they made camp a little ways inland. “Making camp,” in this case, meant popping a capsule house on a level spot of ground. Dinner was sandwiches because neither of them felt like cooking, and they ate outside looking up at the stars, both feeling the quiet camaraderie they had developed over the weeks she'd stayed at his cabin.

As she was drying her hair after her bath, Seventeen having already taken his, Marron heard him exclaim in the main room,

“Bulma is officially crazy.”

She opened the door, still toweling off her hair.

“What?”

Seventeen gestured expansively to a cabinet she hadn't noticed before, the doors now flung open. It housed a large screen TV and more movies than Marron had ever seen in her life. Her uncle shook his head in disbelief.

“Who packs a TV and movies when they go camping?”

Marron draped the towel over her shoulders and walked over to the movie cabinet. It housed a wide selection, everything from little kid movies to action flicks to romantic comedies. She saw a title she recognized and pulled it out. The cover showed a mustachioed man in a trench coat holding a pistol while a blond woman draped herself luxuriously over him. Seventeen raised an eyebrow at the choice. Marron shrugged.

“It's Oolong’s favorite, but mom and dad won't let him watch it when I'm in the house, so I don't know what it's about.”

“Want to watch it?” Seventeen offered. Marron looked up at him with huge, eager eyes. He grinned. “I won't tell if you won't.”

It turned out to be disappointingly boring. It was in black and white, there were a lot of kissing scenes, and everyone spoke in an old, strange dialect. The lack of excitement on screen, however, was more than made up for by the thrill of being allowed to watch something forbidden. Seventeen didn't even seem to mind when she started talking part way through, and he didn't make fun of her for looking away from the kissing parts or the scene where the bad guy's head exploded. When the movie ended and they finally went to bed, it was several hours past her bedtime.

Lying in bed, thinking over her day, Marron felt more grown up than she ever had in her life, and it wasn't until she was halfway to falling asleep that she began to dwell uneasily on what exactly they were doing out here. True, they were on a quest to obtain the dragon balls, just like in the old stories her dad used to tell her, but unlike in those stories, they were intentionally handicapping themselves to make it take longer. If there were really some point to summoning the dragon her uncle could fly around the world and have them gathered in half an hour. They weren't out here for any grand purpose, like trying to bring someone back to life or fix the damage done by an enemy: they were out here because her uncle had wanted to take her on a road trip, and she suddenly felt very foolish for feeling grown up at all. She wasn't necessary to any of this. She was just along for the fun of it.

She sighed deeply, turned over, and took a long time to get to sleep, none of which was lost on her uncle, lying awake in the bed across the room.

* * *

By the next morning she had recovered her spirits. The next dragon ball was on another, slightly bigger island and Seventeen let her drive the boat most of the way there. It was lodged in a tree, and when she suggested he could merely fly up and grab it, he looked at her oddly.

“We're doing this the old fashioned way, bug,” he reminded her, almost sternly. “That tree has way too many small branches for me to climb it, big as I am. It's got to be you.”

There was still that sense of being humored, but it was easily squelched in the face of both his impeccable logic and the fact that she knew better than to suppose Seventeen would do something like coddle her to make her feel better. And climbing the tree turned out to be a lot of fun. She got debris in her hair and sap on her hands and tore her shirt in two places and when she reached the ground Seventeen did no more than pick one or two of the larger twigs out of her hair and suggest she scrub her hands with sand.

Once the dragon ball was procured, Seventeen let her shoot the gun again, and this time she managed to hit a squirrel. She stood over it, not sure how to feel.

“What do we do now?” she asked.

“What are you talking about?’ Seventeen countered. “I taught you how to skin and dress things back at the cabin, remember?”

Marron hesitated, squirming a little. She looked back up at her uncle, one eyebrow raised in an expression of incredulous disgust.

“Yeah, but… a squirrel?”

“They're not bad eating,” Seventeen said, but Marron made a face and shook her head.

“Can't we just… leave it?” she suggested, but even as she said it, she knew it wasn't proper. Her uncle looked at her with a strange expression on his face, like he was trying to decide something. Eventually he said,

“If you don't want to eat it, then at least take the tail.”

“Okay,” Marron said, bending down to do the work. She resolved not to kill any more animals unless she wanted to eat them. The idea of leaving it, as though just killing it had been the point, was too... sad, somehow. She tried to think of something she might want to do with a squirrel tail. “What if I put it on a keychain and gave it to my mom?” she said, looking up at her uncle with a grin. He threw back his head and laughed.

“She would kill me!” he howled gleefully, as though that were the best part. Marron laughed too, as much at the idea of doing something so against her mother's sensibilities as at her uncle's joke. She finished harvesting the tail and wondered idly if she could just live with Seventeen from now on. She supposed she would miss her father a little too much to really want to do it, but getting to go on a month-long road trip with him was turning out to be even better than she had dared hope.


	2. Chapter 2

The next dragon ball belonged to Yamcha, who had called a few days ago to invite them to meet at his old hideout in the desert. The mainland was a day's sail from the island and it was almost another day's drive from the beach to the desert. By the time they got close Marron was so tired of sitting she had taken to standing on her seat, hanging on to the roller bars of the jeep they had chosen for desert travel. Yamcha was waiting for them outside, leaning against his hover car parked next to a rocky outcropping. Marron jumped out of the car as soon as it stopped, running to her older uncle, arms outstretched.

"Hey!" he called, picking her up and spinning her around. "How's my little chestnut? Not so little anymore, though. You've gotten so big since I last saw you!"

"I grew six inches in six months!" Marron announced proudly. Yamcha whistled.

"Wait a minute," he said, peering at her. "Are you taller than your dad?"

"Almost!" she said, bouncing on her toes. "Just three more inches until I'm the same height!"

Yamcha smiled, and then spotted Seventeen and nodded. "Hey, there."

Seventeen nodded back wordlessly.

"Which dragon ball is it?" Marron asked him. "I didn't peek."

"Come see for yourself." Yamcha turned and called out, "Puar! Open 'er up!"

The entrance to his secret hideout, which Marron had never visited, opened up, revealing a spacious garage hidden inside the giant rock formation.

"Wow," she breathed, stepping inside. Vaguely she heard the sounds of Seventeen capsulizing their car and stepping in after her, but her mind was taken up by gathering in every detail she could about her first secret bandit hideout  _ever_. "This is so cool, Uncle Yamcha!"

"Wait'll you see the rest of the place," he boasted, gesturing towards an honest-to-goodness fire pole leading down to the lower level. Marron squealed and slid down, landing ungracefully at the bottom.

"Marron!" a high pitched voice squeaked in greeting. The owner of the voice floated into the room, waving and smiling.

"Hi, Puar!" Marron walked forward, head swiveling back and forth. She heard her uncles land behind her, and she turned around, face alight. "Is this where you live?" she asked Yamcha. He laughed.

"No, I live in the city. But sometimes I come out here for a night or two, just for old times sake." He walked over to an old chest and opened it, motioning Marron to come stand next to him. Inside the chest was the five star ball, and Marron picked it up, grinning her thanks up at Yamcha.

"What're you gonna wish for?" he asked, as Seventeen bet Puar fifty zeni he couldn't make an exact copy of him.

"I'm not really sure," Marron said, turning the ball over in her fingers. They ignored the poof as Puar transformed. Seventeen smugly pointed out the small black eyes that looked nothing like his narrow blue ones. Puar grumbled and changed his eyes. "I might not actually wish for anything. I wouldn't want to have used up a wish just in case something happens."

("Mmm, better," Seventeen admitted. "What? What else is wrong?" Puar demanded.)

"That's very responsible of you," Yamcha praised. "You'll never believe how I got this, by the way. I was in the middle of a baseball game, playing left field, and I was holding my glove up ready to catch the winning out, and instead of a baseball— _thunk_ —there lands a dragon ball right in my glove. They never did find the baseball."

("My hair is more silky than that.")

Marron regarded her uncle with an incredulous stare. The last time she'd seen him, over a year ago and six inches shorter, she likely would have believed him without question. She was old enough now to start being skeptical of ridiculous stories.

"Are you sure?" she said suspiciously. "That sounds made up to me."

("And I would never wear socks that color.")

"Of course I'm sure!" Yamcha said, sounding hurt but also insincere about it, so Marron was pretty sure he had been making it up, and was silently proud of herself for noticing.

"How's this?" Puar asked, and Seventeen crowed.

"That's more like it. Hey! See if you can tell us apart."

Marron and Yamcha turned to see two identical Android Seventeens standing next to them.

"You're Seventeen," Marron said swiftly, pointing. "You're Puar," Yamcha said, pointing at the same one. They turned to each other, frowning.

"That's not right," they said at the same time. One of the dark haired androids shook his head and reached into his pocket, pulling out fifty zeni and handing it to the other one.

"Looks like you win," he said, and the one now holding the money poofed back into Puar. Yamcha looked shocked.

"I told you," Marron said, flipping one pigtail over her shoulder.

"Told you," said Puar, equally smugly.

Both Yamcha and Seventeen laughed.

Marron braided her wet hair into two pigtails and pulled on the jumpsuit Yamcha was letting her borrow while her clothes were in the laundry. She had to roll the sleeves and legs up five or six times, but it smelled like Yamcha and the desert, and it was a comforting smell. She grabbed the capsule marked G-55 and slipped on her sneakers.

To her surprise the desert was cold when she stepped outside. The stars were barely peeking out along the darkening horizon, but it was already at least twenty degrees cooler than it had been mere hours before. She shivered and unrolled her sleeves one roll. Seventeen and Yamcha were still inside the old hideout, and she crept quietly away, wanting to surprise them.

Though she didn't know the desert very well, common sense told her that what she was looking for would most likely be found around the rocky upshoots she could see in the distance. She also knew that desert life preferred the night, so she popped the capsule and plucked the rifle out of thin air, and began walking towards them.

Unknown to her, Puar floated silently behind her, curious and a bit unnerved at the sight of a little girl wielding a large rifle with such ease. He followed her for nearly fifteen minutes, and then ducked behind a stone pillar when she froze and brought the butt of the rifle up to her shoulder, sighting along the barrel at something Puar couldn't see. She took a step, and then another, and then froze again, holding her breath. Puar held his breath as well, and then couldn't help the squeak of surprise when the air was split by the sound of a rifle crack.

Marron spun around, eyes roaming wildly in Puar's direction, but he stayed out of sight. After satisfying herself that there was no one there, Marron turned back to where she'd shot and walked forward, holding the rifle at her side. Puar stayed where he was, and dimly saw her bend down and pick up something off the ground. Her sneakers crunched on the gravel as she walked back to the hideout, and Puar watched, disconcerted, as her blond pigtails bounced against her shoulders in time to the flapping of the ears of the dead rabbit she carried in one hand.

After walking back to the base for about ten minutes Marron heard a whooshing sound and then two small thuds as Yamcha and Seventeen landed hard on the ground in front of her. It sounded like they had been flying fast, and both of them looked her over wildly.

"Hi," she said shyly, suddenly aware that she'd done something wrong.

"Where were you?" Seventeen all but shouted. She'd never heard him sound so angry. "We've been out looking for you for half an hour. What the hell, bug?"

She looked off to the side and hefted the rabbit in apology and explanation.

"I was just hunting," she mumbled. "I didn't think I'd be gone so long."

"Hunting?!" Seventeen's voice broke as it reached a pitch he was unaccustomed to using. "What the hell made you think that was okay? Is that my rifle?" he demanded, noticing it for the first time. He snatched it out of her grasp. "You fucking stole my rifle and went off on your own  _hunting_?"

"I didn't steal it!" Marron yelled, shame and anger welling up inside her. Her uncle looked almost frightening for the first time she could remember. She was aware that both he and his sister easily made other people nervous, especially when they were angry, but she'd never been afraid of either one of them in her entire life. "I was going to bring it back."

"Did I say you could take it?" Seventeen retorted, gesturing with the gun in question with sharp, quick movements. "No, I didn't. You go out,  _alone_ , at night, with a gun you don't have permission to use, and you want to argue semantics. Unbelievable."

Marron was appalled to feel big, hot tears welling up in her eyes and spilling down her cheeks. Seventeen saw them, and immediately paled.

"Shit, I'm sorry bug," he whispered, running a hand through his hair. He turned away and caught sight of Yamcha, standing awkwardly a few feet away with discomfort written all over his face. "Take her home, I need to blow off some steam," he muttered, and stalked away into the desert, footsteps sounding angrily in the otherwise quiet darkness.

Yamcha held out a hand and Marron took it, sniffling, and buried her face in his jacket as he flew her back to the hideout, feeling absolutely miserable.


	3. Chapter 3

"That's some pretty impressive marksmanship, Marron," Yamcha said, watching with reluctant interest as his niece skillfully skinned and cleaned the rabbit. "How far away were you when you shot it?"

"Fifty yards maybe," Marron mumbled at the pile of giblets she'd collected on the table. Seventeen still hadn't returned.

"Wow," Yamcha breathed. "Where'd you learn to do that?"

"Uncle's been teaching me," she said, picking up the hide and holding it in her hands as though she'd forgotten what to do with it. "I don't know why he's so mad at me. He likes hunting."

Yamcha laughed.

"He's mad because he loves you, Marron. If anything happened to you he'd be devastated."

"But why'd he have to yell at me?"

Yamcha sighed.

"Some people yell when they're scared."

Marron was incredulous.

"He wasn't scared, he was mad."

"I'm pretty sure he was both."

Marron began working on the hide again, mulling that over. Yamcha cleared his throat.

"Actually, Marron, I feel like I need to ask: why  _did_  you just up and decide to go hunting by yourself?" Marron's shoulders hunched in shame, and Yamcha pressed forward gently. "I'm not mad at you, Marron, it's just that it was a pretty dangerous thing you did. But you're a smart kid, so I know you must have had some reason."

It was irritating, being scolded for something she knew had been a dumb idea. Not that Yamcha was really even scolding her. She might have felt more justified in her desire to lash out at him if he had been.

"I don't know," she said sullenly, deboning the rabbit sloppily in her anger. The truth was, she  _hadn't_  had a reason. She had just thought it would be nice to get some meat for dinner, and went. Wasn't that what grown-ups did? Decide something and then do it? It was only in the cold light of hindsight that what she'd thought of as easy practicality was revealed to be merely childish thoughtlessness.

"Even I don't go out in the desert by myself at night," Yamcha continued. "It's really dangerous."

"Uncle, I  _know_!" Marron wailed angrily. "Stop bugging me about it, I get it!"

"I just want to make sure you really understand what you did wrong."

"I do! I know it was dumb to go out at night by myself, and I know I shouldn't have taken Uncle Seventeen's gun without asking. I just..." Marron's voice subsided into a mutter, but Yamcha still heard her say, "...wanted to do something useful for once."

Suddenly Yamcha wasn't a grown up scolding a sweet but misguided kid for doing something a little dumb. He was everyone that had ever kindly told him he wasn't a failure, even when they both knew that wasn't true.

Baseball had never brought him the satisfaction he'd hoped it would. It didn't matter how many trophies he won or how loudly the crowds cheered, all of it rang hollow. When he finally retired he moved on to picking up jobs here and there as a bodyguard, chasing that feeling of being essential, but no one wanted an ex-baseball player defending their life, and no one cared that he'd been a finalist in three World Martial Arts Tournaments, because he was from the era before Mr. Satan's reforms and his integrity was therefore suspect. He hadn't even been able to get married and start a family, his one goal in life, because if he wasn't comparing them to Bulma they were comparing him to the suave baseball star they thought he was. These days the only moments of true satisfaction he got came from playing uncle to his friends' kids, and even that felt like borrowing happiness that didn't rightfully belong to him.

Gohan had already been grown by the time Yamcha realized uncle-hood was the closest he was ever going to get to being a father, but Goten had been the perfect age and was easily impressed by Yamcha's tall tales and simple magic tricks. Even though the moments were few and far between, Yamcha had been able to hang out with Trunks a few times in his youth and give him a taste of male-bonding that  _didn't_  smack of child abuse. Not that he didn't find himself, even in those moments when he was silently pretending to be Trunks' father, still slipping into the role of helping Trunks understand his actual father better, because he wasn't a monster, and he'd  _watched_  Vegeta realize Trunks (the big one, but it was clear it bled over to the little one too) actually  _mattered_  to him. He had played with Marron when she was small, made her laugh and helped her up when she fell, and he'd been ready to gently lecture her on her behavior tonight and then let it go until he realized that she felt as out of place in her world as he did in his.

If she were his child he'd tell her about his failures and his successes, the contributions he'd made and the times when his fear had prevented him from doing what needed to be done. He'd help her learn from his mistakes and her own, like any father would. But she wasn't his. None of them were. The ache of being forty-eight and childless, of not being able to say the things to Marron he wanted to say because she wasn't  _his_ and it wasn't his place, grew until it hurt to breathe. Anything he might have reasonably said died on his lips, and the silence stretched until any reply would be worse than none.

Shaking himself from his reverie, Yamcha fiddled with the salt shaker on the table and pondered how to make Marron feel better. If he couldn't give her any grand advice then at least he could take her mind off things. He scratched his face and that gave him an idea.

"Hey, did I ever tell you how I got these scars?"

Marron glanced over at him, frowning thoughtfully.

"No," she said slowly, unwilling to give up her melancholy so easily. Yamcha gave her a gentle grin.

"That's probably because I've never told anyone. Want to hear?"

Marron gave a casual shrug to hide the fact that she was burning with curiosity.

"It was about, oh gosh, around thirty years ago now, man I feel old. Anyway, I was training for the World Martial Arts Tournament and I decided to take a break and work on my car. I thought it would be a good idea to hold up the car with my hands while I working on it, and wouldn't you know it, the car slipped and part of the undercarriage slashed me in the face. I was lucky it didn't bash my skull in."

Work on the rabbit had come to a halt. Marron was staring at him in horror, mouth hanging open.

"Dad told me you probably got them fighting bad guys," she said accusingly. Yamcha laughed.

"I'm glad that's what he assumed, but no." He gave her a wry grin. "I'd appreciate it if you didn't spread this around, I already have a reputation for being a screw up and I don't need to add this to the list."

It was a little humbling, Marron mused as she slowly sliced the meat into strips, to be entrusted with a secret, even if it was a totally lame one. Yamcha had not sounded bitter as he called himself a screw up, but he had sounded sad, and she remembered that though he had been a fighter like her father and even trained under the same master, he'd given up the craft long before Krillin, largely due to feeling hopelessly outclassed. She had heard a lot of gossip like this before the growth spurt, having looked young enough not to set off the sensors adults seemed to have that told them when little pitchers with big ears were around. She liked being taller, but she did miss the juicy gossip.

"I won't," she promised, unaware that Yamcha was congratulating himself on having successfully gotten his niece's mind off her problems, at least for the moment.

"You ever hear the story of how I met Goku?" he asked, hoping to add to his accomplishments.

"Yes," she said, "all the time." Before Yamcha could be too disappointed, she continued eagerly.

"Is this really where you met Auntie Bulma?"

Yamcha laughed, embarrassed.

"Yes, and everything you've heard about that is probably true."

Marron straightened up excitedly.

"So you really beat Uncle Goku?"

"Sure did!" Yamcha boasted, pleased that this was the detail she had latched onto, even if it wasn't exactly true. "Had him right where I wanted him. Of course, that was a long time ago."

"Is it true Uncle Goku was shorter than my dad when they were little?"

"No," Yamcha mused thoughtfully, "no, I think Goku was always a little taller than Krillin. They were about the same size when I first met them, actually."

"Oh," Marron said, not sure if what she felt could properly be called disappointment. "Dad always said he used to be taller than him."

"I'm sure that's possible," Yamcha said generously.

"Do you think Bra will ever be taller than me?" Marron mused. "I bet Pan will, but Vegeta's kinda short."

Yamcha coughed painfully, more impressed with the girl's easy dismissal of the Saiyan Prince's height than he had been with her shooting.

"I wouldn't go around saying that to just anybody, Marron," he warned. She shook her head dismissively.

"It's okay, he and I have an understanding."

"Oh?" Now he was just amused. "What kind of 'understanding'?"

Marron, who had been feeling very superior, came abruptly up against the fact that she wasn't one hundred percent sure what people meant when they used the phrase "have an understanding."

"We just do," she said, pretending to be preoccupied with the rabbit. Yamcha smiled to himself and didn't press it. He was about to offer some spices for the jerky, since she seemed to be intending to make plain salt jerky and that seemed like a waste to him, when Marron spoke up again, her tone conversational. "Uncle, do you think I'm mature?"

Yamcha regretted the guffaw that slipped out of his mouth before the sound of it had even died away. He was laughing mostly at himself for getting so melancholy when really she'd just been worried about growing up, but the damage was done. Marron spun around, knife still in hand, her expression a mixture of outrage and betrayal. Yamcha held up his hands, desperate to explain.

"No, I mean―of course you're mature, it's just... I mean, you are only ten―but for a ten year old you're―it was just I'd been thinking about something else―I mean, I was thinking about what you said, and then―that is―I would never laugh at you... I mean I just did, but... I just―I was..."

Yamcha quickly realized his backpedaling was only digging the hole deeper and he trailed off awkwardly.

"Uncle, you suck," Marron spat with all the venom available to a ten year old girl (which was a lot more than he would have guessed), and spun back around to her work, nose in the air. Yamcha winced.

"Marron, I'm sorry―"

"Go away!" she ordered, and Yamcha felt he had no choice but to comply. He would think of some way to make it up to her, but first, he needed a beer and some fresh air.

* * *

The roof of the hideout was flat, and it was the tallest structure for miles, allowing for a spectacular view. Even at night, the stars that illuminated the sky lit up the landscape so well it was visible for miles. Distant rock formations formed silhouettes against the horizon, the milky way painting a wide stripe overhead. Back in his bandit days, Yamcha had spent many evenings on this roof staring up at the stars, thinking expansive thoughts and engaging in the kind of dignified philosophizing particular to sixteen year old boys. He preferred city life in a lot of ways, but one of the major exceptions was the lack of a night sky to dream under.

Behind him, Yamcha heard someone land on the roof. He couldn't sense who it was, so it was likely Seventeen, back from sulking.

"Beautiful night," Yamcha said without turning around. The younger man sat down next to him, feet dangling off the cliff edge.

"Sure is," Seventeen agreed, but there was tension in his voice. He waved off the beer Yamcha offered to him and stared out over the desert with pensive eyes. Yamcha let him sit in silence.

"Listen, I need some advice," the android said eventually. Yamcha hmmm'd invitingly. He'd been expecting something like this. Seventeen was quiet for another minute before finally speaking.

"Do you think I should just... stop this?" he asked. His tone was as casual as it ever was, but underneath it was a pleading note.

"Stop what?"

Seventeen gestured expansively.

"This whole... road trip idea. I was trying to make her feel better, have some good bonding time, I don't know." He switched to a parody of his own voice: "Oh, hey, Marron, let's go look for the dragon balls! And while we're at it, why don't I teach a ten year old how to shoot a gun, that's a totally responsible thing to do!"

He sighed, deflating.

"And then I went and yelled at her. I'm supposed to be the fun uncle. I like being the fun uncle. But what if she actually gets hurt? It would be  _my_   _fault_. I can't believe that didn't occur to me until today, but it didn't. Never mind what her mother might do to me, I can't handle the idea of something bad happening to her. But it was my dumb idea to come out here in the first place, so it would be pretty douchey of me to just call it quits before we're even halfway done."

The note of frustration in his voice was building, and when he paused to take a breath Yamcha took the opportunity to interject.

"Look, man, I totally get where you're coming from. But you gotta remember, she's Krillin's kid. She's probably tougher than your average ten year old girl. She can handle herself if things get hairy."

Seventeen gave him a sour look.

"What, my sister's genetics don't come into play?"

"Aw, come on, I didn't mean it that way. I was just talking physical toughness, you know? Krillin could punch out sharks even before he met Master Roshi, there's no way Marron doesn't have some of that. As for mental toughness, of course she takes after her mom. And she has you to look after her. She'll be fine."

"But what if―"

"I gotta be honest with you," Yamcha interrupted, letting the liquid courage in his belly guide him to lecture someone who could tie him in knots. "Marron seems like she needs this. I dunno if something happened, or if it's just part of her growing up, and maybe it's none of my business. But she needs to know she's up to this sort of thing. Maybe she'll never be a martial artist like her dad. That's fine. But she's got a lot of big personalities in her life and she needs to know she can figure with the best of 'em if she puts her mind to it. She needs to know what  _she_  can do, and be proud of it even if no one else is."

Yamcha was not sure he was quite making sense, and he was not at all certain he hadn't started talking about himself somewhere along the way, but Seventeen seemed to be mulling his words over thoughtfully, so he considered his advice given and took another swig from the bottle in his hand, feeling both satisfied and morose.


	4. Chapter 4

"Hi, Uncle Goku!" Marron greeted cheerfully, stepping out of the car and attempting to stretch surreptitiously after hours of driving. It was always fun to see Goku, but she and Uncle Seventeen had hardly spoken to each other since leaving Yamcha's, so hearing another person's voice after several days was more than welcome.

"Marron!" Goku greeted just as enthusiastically, setting down the axe he was carrying. It hit the ground with a dull thud and sank into the ground a good six inches. "It's good to see you! How's your dad?"

"He's good. He told me I'd run into you."

"That's right, you're looking for the dragon balls, aren't you?" Goku leaned on his axe and grinned playfully. "It's true that I have the four star ball…"

"Great!" Marron did not pick up on the glint in Goku's eye. "We've got three already. We've been driving for three days, but the next one isn't too far away, I think. Then that'll be five and―"

"Whoa, there," Goku chuckled. "What makes you think I'm just going to  _give_  it to you?"

His tone was playful, the kind he used when he was about to launch a Tickle Attack on her or one of the other kids, so it took a moment before his meaning soaked into her brain. Her face fell. She knew what the four star ball meant to her Uncle Goku, but she had assumed he was perfectly willing to let it be used for wishing. Now she felt the sting of having made a terrible faux pas, and she bit her lip, wondering how she was going to back her way out of looking like a jerk. She glanced at Seventeen, wondering if he was going to jump in and help her, but he was still sitting in the convertible they'd arrived in, posture casual, one arm resting on the car door. Before she looked away, though, she noted his eyes, which were trained unblinkingly on Goku. She turned back to him.

"Um…"

"Aw, don't look so sad," he cajoled. "I don't mind letting you have it. But you're going to have to earn it."

His tone was still playful, and Marron let herself relax, since apparently no mortal offense had been taken―which was silly, now that she thought about it. This was Uncle Goku: nothing phased him, especially not a little thing like manners. She smiled brightly.

"What can we do for you?"

She wasn't sure how helpful she would be, but it was only fair to offer: the four star dragon ball  _was_  his grandfather's heirloom. There was no good reason for him to just give it up when this was just for fun. He was being such a good sport about her coming over here and demanding his property, doing him a favor wouldn't even be a burden―

"I want you to fight me."

Marron froze, still smiling. Slowly her face contorted into an open-mouthed expression of horror.

"But―you mean I―but I can't―"

Goku laughed again.

"Not you, silly. Your uncle."

She turned swiftly to see Seventeen's reaction. He smirked, and got out of the car.

"I had a feeling you'd say that," he said, taking off his jacket and tossing it inside the vehicle. "What kind of a fight are we talking, here?"

"Oh, nothing too serious," Goku said casually, cracking his neck back and forth. "Just a little spar."

Marron was fascinated to note that while their words were perfectly casual, the two of them had not broken eye contact for a second, their mutual gaze intense and full of some sort of meaning she couldn't guess at.

"Any rules?" her uncle asked, stepping in front of Goku, arms loose at his sides.

"Don't hurt Marron?" Goku suggested, and at that her uncle ended the staring contest to glance at his niece.

"Hmm," he said. "Goku, how far is your house from here?"

* * *

Marron trudged up the path to the Son house, muttering darkly to herself. The worst part was not so much being sent away like a little kid, but the feeling that her uncle really had just been coddling her all along, that when things truly mattered she was not only useless, she was actively in his way. The cherry on top of her misery sundae was the clarity of hindsight: Goku wanting to fight her uncle should not have come as the unpleasant surprise it had. As if to punctuate this thought, she heard a loud boom from behind her, causing all the birds in the vicinity to fly away. She gave a heavy sigh, and continued walking.

At the front gate of the Son house she was met by Goten, who grabbed her hand and whispered, "Run!" before taking off and dragging her behind him.

"Goten!" his mother's voice called angrily from the open doorway. "You get back here right now, young man! Oh, hi, Marron, you're welcome to stay for dinner if you want. Goten, I mean it!"

But the rest of her tirade was lost, as they got further and further into the woods. Finally when Marron was pretty sure she was going to collapse, Goten stopped and leaned against a tree, laughing.

"Man, that sure was good timing," he said to her, and she leaned on her knees and tried to get her breath back. "What brings you all the way out here, Marron?"

"Looking… dragon balls…" was all she managed to gasp out.

"Oh, cool! Listen, I'd love to help you get it, but it's back at the house, and, uh… heh heh…" He put his hand on the back of his head and grinned. "It's not safe for me there right now."

"What… did you do?" Marron asked, enough breath back for full sentences.

"Let's just say, Trunks isn't the only one who's grounded now. Oh, speaking of which―"

Goten turned his gaze up to the sky, and sure enough, seconds later, Trunks landed next to his best friend. They high-fived.

"Did you do it?" Trunks asked excitedly. Goten giggled like a little boy and nodded. Trunks grinned. "You are so  _toast_ , man!"

"What?" Marron looked between the two of them, wishing, not for the first time, that she could understand what on earth the two of them were talking about.

"Nothing," they said at the same time, and Marron pouted.

"Hey, is your dad fighting someone?" Trunks asked Goten, both of them ignoring her.

"I don't sense anyone else," he answered, and they stared at the sky like two cats staring at ghosts.

"He's fighting my Uncle Seventeen," Marron announced, hands on hips, triumphant at finally knowing something they didn't. They turned to each other, shared a look, and then shrugged, completely unimpressed. That made her frown, though she knew she shouldn't be surprised. They had always been like that: two halves of the same whole. Twins from different parents. But it had never made her feel left out before. She sighed and kicked a pinecone.

"Hey, Marron," Trunks said, cocking his head to the side and studying her. She stared back, and was suddenly struck, seeing him standing next to his gawky friend and without his family nearby, with just how very beautiful he was. She felt the heat rise in her cheeks at his intense gaze, so much like Vegeta's but blindingly blue, and hoped he couldn't tell she was blushing. "What exactly happened between you and my dad, anyway?"

She looked away, feeling almost stung. Being reminded of  _that_  right after her revelation concerning Trunks' attractiveness was like having a bucket of cold water poured right into her stomach.

"Don't ask me that," she muttered, shuffling in place, wondering if she could find her way back to the house on her own or not.

"Wait, what?" Goten looked between Marron and Trunks, bewildered. "What happened? Huh?"

Trunks was still looking at her with that piercing gaze, and she discovered that attractiveness could be just as intimidating as it was alluring.

"It's obvious  _something_  happened," Trunks went on. Marron felt a little like a butterfly pinned to a card. She shrugged helplessly, unable to lie, unwilling to tell the truth. Though she knew intellectually that the matter wasn't her fault, wasn't  _anyone's_  fault, it still felt like something shameful. Goten was staring at both of them as though they were speaking a language he couldn't understand, and the thought of relating the story with an audience was even more unbearable.

"Ask him if you're so curious," Marron told Trunks sourly. Vegeta may not have  _intended_ to make her life difficult, but she was perfectly willing to throw him under the bus even so. Trunks opened his mouth, clearly intent on pressing her again, but he was interrupted before he could speak.

"Goten!" a young voice called from above them. "Goooooteeeeeen!"

"Aw, it's Pan!" Goten kicked at the dirt and pouted. "She always sends Pan after me; it's not fair!"

Trunks laughed mockingly, breaking his spell over Marron.

"Nobody said you had to take orders from a little girl, now did they?"

"You're one to talk! I see you with Bra, she's got you wrapped around her little finger. And you like Pan just as much as I do, so there."

The little girl in question floated unsteadily down from above the canopy and landed in front of them.

"Found you!" she burbled, latching on to Goten's leg. "Up! Up!"

Goten lifted his niece to his shoulder, rolling his eyes. "Panny, you shouldn't go so high. It's dangerous."

"Is fun!" she protested.

"She can  _fly_?" Marron exclaimed. Trunks nodded.

"Goku's been working with her. She can let off ki blasts and everything."

Marron stared at the little girl, getting scolded by her fourteen year old uncle, and it was like the birthday party all over again. She tried to swallow down the familiar mix of inadequacy and loneliness that welled up in her throat, and found it easier this time.

"Goten, come on!" Pan was tugging at her uncle's shirt, trying to get him to take her back to the house. "Come on, come on!"

"I can't go back there, Panny, she'll kill me!"

Pan's mouth formed a small round 'o' as she heard this.

"Goten get died?" she asked, her little face scrunched up with worry. Goten looked pained, but Trunks stepped in, laughing.

"Don't worry, Panny, Goten won't get died while I'm here."

"Yeah!" Goten agreed. "Nothing can defeat the two of us!"

The two teenagers blew simultaneous raspberries on the little girl's cheeks, prompting uproarious giggles from all three of them. Marron sighed and turned to go back to the house.

"Hey, Marron, wait," Trunks called, jogging up to her. "Allow me to escort you, my lady." He offered her his bent elbow, and then she definitely blushed, bright, raspberry red.

* * *

Chi Chi was waiting for them at the house with arms folded, standing in the doorway like an angry guardian of the hearth. Goten clutched Pan to him like a shield, and Trunks tightened his arm around Marron's hand in much the same way. Chi Chi gave her a nod.

"It's good to see you, Marron," she said. "Why don't you go on inside and have some of the snacks I've set out? Just don't spoil your dinner."

"There's snacks?" Goten asked hopefully, and Chi Chi rounded on him, eyes flashing.

"Not for you, young man!" she yelled, and Marron took the opportunity to slip out of Trunks' grip and around Chi Chi into the house. She could hear her aunt's voice carrying all the way to the dining room, and she sat at the table, chin in hands, staring out the window, barely noticing the heaping trays of goodies before her. Aunt Chi Chi was nice, but she yelled a lot. This was going to take a while. The view out the window was pleasant, blue sky bordered by green trees, and Marron let her mind wander, almost drowsing, until someone caught her attention by clearing his throat.

She looked up and saw Gohan standing a polite distance away, a friendly smile on his face. Despite her current gray mood, Marron couldn't help but smile back. Aside from Seventeen, who was an actual blood relative, Gohan was her favorite uncle. Yamcha was fun (when she wasn't mad at him), and Goku was almost like one of the kids, but Gohan always made sure to pay attention to her and never treated her like a dumb little kid, even back when she  _was_  a dumb little kid. That reminded her...

"Uncle, do you think I'm mature?"

Gohan did not laugh, but the expression on his face told her he was thinking hard about her question, which was disappointing in its own way. She had been hoping the answer would be obvious, not something requiring intense thought. Gohan sat down a few seats away from her, propping one ankle up on his knee, and gazed thoughtfully at her for a few moments.

"Well, I definitely wouldn't say you're  _im_ mature," he said, putting his head to the side slightly. "You can take care of yourself, you're considerate to others, and you're very intelligent."

Marron wanted to preen, but she sensed a 'but' coming on.

"On the other hand, they say that worrying about your own maturity is actually a sign of immaturity."

It was an uncomfortable thing to hear, but instead of being hurt or offended, as she had expected to be, Marron suddenly remembered that she had never heard a single actual grown up talk about their own maturity. She looked down at the wood grain of the table, frowning thoughtfully.

"On the  _other_  other hand," Gohan added, chuckling, "worrying about your own maturity is perfectly normal for someone your age."

"Did you worry about it when you were my age?" Marron asked. Gohan's good humor softened into something a little more somber.

"I wouldn't use me as a touchstone for what's normal," he said. "I had a pretty unusual upbringing."

Marron huffed.

"Everyone keeps saying stuff like that, but as far as I can tell,  _I'm_ the one who's weird."

Gohan raised an eyebrow, his face showing concern tinged with amusement. Marron gave him a sour look.

"I know, I know."

"You're not weird, Marron," Gohan told her gently.

"I don't care if I'm weird or not," Marron said, and it was mostly true. "I just want to know if I'm mature."

"That's a tough question to answer with any certainty, for anyone. But for what it's worth," Gohan told her, "I think you're exactly where you should be."

Marron figured that the best she was going to get, and she smiled her thanks at Gohan, who smiled back.

Chi Chi's yelling, which hadn't really let up during the whole conversation, suddenly rose in pitch again as the front door opened with a bang. They heard Goku's laughing voice answering his wife's scolding, and Marron got up and went to the hall. Seventeen and Goku stood in the front doorway, both of them covered in bruises and scratches, their clothes sweat-stained and torn. They were clearly trying to enter, but they had been waylaid by Chi Chi.

"I can't believe you think I'm going to let you in here looking like that!" Chi Chi was saying. "Go take a bath, and don't go running around without a towel the way you usually do, we have guests." Goku tried to protest that he was too hungry to wait for a bath, but in the face of Chi Chi's continued wrath he edged gradually back out the door. On the other hand, Marron saw her uncle take a step further inside the house, clearly under the impression that a change of clothes was not something he also needed.

"Uncle!" Marron scolded, hands on her hips. "You can't come in here looking like that!"

Seventeen regarded her with mild shock, for she had barely spoken two words to him since Yamcha's place. She stood firm.

"Go change, and wash your face and hands," she ordered.

Uncle regarded niece for a moment, as though sizing her up. Then he smiled wryly and nodded.

"Yes, ma'am," he said to Marron, and went back out the door. Chi Chi turned to her, beaming.

"That's the way, Marron," she said approvingly. "You can't let these fighters walk all over you."

Marron was shocked.

"But, Aunt Chi Chi, you're a fighter, too."

Chi Chi laughed.

"Oh, I used to be," she agreed. "But I'm not anymore. Nowadays I'm strictly a wife and mother. Be glad you're not related to any Saiyans, Marron. Your uncle may have been a delinquent in the past, but at least he doesn't dye his hair blond at the drop of a hat."

"Mom, we've told you, it's not hair dye," Gohan said longsufferingly from behind Marron in the hall.

"I don't care how you do it, the result is the same!" Chi Chi ranted, and continued to wax lyric on the subject while making her way down the hall. Gohan turned to Marron and gave her a companionable eye roll once his mother's back was turned. Marron stifled a giggle.

Seventeen returned a few minutes later with his hair damp and slicked back, wearing fresh clothes. He stood in front of Marron in the front yard and spread his hands, indicating his appearance, and then quirked an eyebrow at her, questioning. She pretended to think hard, and then gave him a sharp nod. They grinned at each other, and the ice between them thawed and disappeared.

* * *

"Hey, Uncle Seventeen?" Marron said tentatively as they drove through the mountains. They had stayed the night at Goku's, relishing Chi Chi's cooking and playing rummy and hanafuda with everyone until late at night. Trunks had stayed until bedtime, and Marron had not noticed Gohan (who had been by to pick Pan up but who had stayed for dinner and games) smiling to himself whenever she snuck glances at Trunks.

"Yeah?" he answered, not taking his eyes off the road. The car jolted as it hit a patch of uneven ground, and Marron tugged at her seatbelt, making sure it was secure. "Sorry about that. What were you saying?"

"Um…" Marron pressed the tips of her index fingers together, unconsciously imitating her father. "Have you ever been in love?"

The car jolted again as Seventeen hit the brakes. He sat, just breathing for a moment, and then put the car in gear and started moving again, a little slower this time.

"What brought this on?" he asked nonchalantly, not looking at her, and she wondered what she had done wrong.

"Nothing," she assured him. "I was just curious."

"Hmm," he said, not believing her. "No, can't say I have."

"Not even before you were…" She let it hang in the air, embarrassed that she had come so close to asking about his former life.

He sighed. "No, not even then, lightning bug. Seriously, why do you ask?"

"No reason," she protested, but he turned and gave her a canny stare.

"Come on, you can talk to your Uncle Seventeen, can't you?" he cajoled. "I promise I won't tell anyone."

She squirmed, but in the end she said,

"Promise?"

"Promise," he confirmed.

"Um…"

"Who is it?" he sighed, and she jumped.

"Um… Trunks."

He let out a long breath.

"I guess I shouldn't be surprised," he muttered. "But he's way too old for you, bug."

"What?" she shrieked. "Uncle, it's not like I'm in love with him! I just… think he's cute."

"If you like purple hair," he muttered again.

"It's pretty!" Marron defended, and Seventeen threw back his head and laughed.

"Take it from me, bug, don't ever tell him that."

Marron hmphed, and settled into her seat. Having grown up in Kame House, she was well aware that adults found certain members of the opposite sex attractive, and, if pressed, she could probably tell a handsome man from an ugly one. But she had never experienced it as more than merely an abstract concept, and she found the idea that she might actually be attracted to someone both exciting and terrifying. Her uncle laughing when all she'd wanted was some advice might have made her annoyed and hurt all over again the day before, but Gohan's words were still ringing in her ears, so instead she tried to remember if any actual grown ups she knew had ever been laughed at and what they had done in response.

The only one she could come up with was Yamcha, and he didn't seem like a useful example in this case. She sighed and looked out the window, remembering Trunks smiling at her, Trunks whispering to her about what was in his hand so they could team up on Goten, Trunks flipping his hair out of his eyes.

Seventeen side-eyed his niece, completely aware of what was going on in her head, and turned on the radio. This prompted her to snap out of it and berate him for his musical tastes; a much better state of affairs, at least from from his point of view.


	5. Chapter 5

The six star ball was far to the north, and after a while they had to switch the car out for snowmobiles. They rode in frigid silence for a long time, until eventually Seventeen stopped and pointed out a dot on the white horizon.

"There's a village over there, a couple hills away," he said, and Marron checked it against the dragon radar.

"I bet it's there," she said.

"Hmm," was all her uncle said, before mounting his snowmobile again. Soon they came to rougher terrain, and they were forced to capsulize the snow mobiles and continue on foot. There was a vague path, blunted by snow, and they walked along it, Seventeen pestering Marron with questions about what she was going to wish for. Early in the road trip she had responded to these questions seriously, but by now it had become something of a game.

"Um… a million puppies!"

"I don't know if a million puppies would even fit on that island," Seventeen remarked. "Why not a million kittens?"

"If a million puppies can't fit, I don't think a million kittens will either," Marron responded. She went on, but Seventeen was interrupted from listening to her by the beeping of his enemy identification system.

"What the…"

_Renegade android detected. Model Number: 8. Created by Dr. Frappe in collaboration with the great Dr. Gero. Rebelled against the Red Ribbon Army in 750. Orders: destroy on sight._

"Shut up, you stupid computer," Seventeen muttered, causing Marron to glance up at him with a puzzled expression. He shook his head at her and scanned the landscape. Far away, too far for normal human eyes to see, was a lone, squarish figure, bigger than a normal man. His internal files brought up a picture. "Ugly son of a gun. Definitely Frappe's influence."

"Uncle, what are you talking about?"

"It's nothing, Marron," he said, resuming walking. If he was reading between the lines correctly, Goku had freed Android 8 from the Red Ribbon Army a long time ago and apparently the ugly bastard was still running free up here all these years later. Seventeen silently wished him well and hoped their paths did not cross. He didn't appreciate any reminder of his time under Gero's control, no matter how benign, and he doubted Android 8 would feel any differently.

He stepped over a small mound in the ground and felt all his artificial functions freeze and stop. His body, suddenly cut off from communication with his brain, went limp and collapsed, and he was treated to the horrifying experience of being fully conscious in a void where he could feel, hear, see and smell nothing. He floated, able only to wait for sensation of any kind to return, forced to hope that Marron would be alright without him.

* * *

Marron was already a few steps ahead of her uncle when he collapsed, and she was only alerted to his fall by the sound of crunching snow. She turned her head, wondering if Seventeen had knelt down to start gathering snow for a snowball, and then spun all the way around, horrified to see his limp form on the ground.

"Uncle?" she tried, praying he was playing a trick on her. "Uncle? This―this isn't funny, you know. Get up. Get up!"

When he didn't move she knelt beside him and shook him slightly. Nothing. She shook him again, harder. Still nothing. With great difficulty she heaved him over so he was on his back, and his still-open eyes stared at nothing. Waving her hand in front of them elicited no reaction. He was out cold.

By now her breath was coming quick and shallow, and it was starting to make her slightly dizzy. She sat back on her haunches and took several deep breaths, grasping at memories of sitting on warm sand in the early morning, listening to Roshi lead her and Krillin through their daily centering exercises before practice. "Match your breathing to the waves," Roshi would say. "Slow and steady, in and out and in."

There were no waves, so Marron made do with the memory of them, made more difficult by the cold and damp soaking through the knees of her pants where she knelt on the snow. She breathed steadily for a few minutes, and the scrap of calm this afforded her reminded her of the instructions she'd been given if anything were to happen to her uncle: stabilize him if necessary and call Bulma. Regular first aid would be next to useless.

She opened her eyes and checked Seventeen's pulse, berating herself for not having done it sooner. It was a little faint, but steady. She breathed in relief, the knowledge that he was alive doing more to calm her down than the breathing exercises had. Next she pulled the capsule case out of the bag her uncle carried (no small task since it had landed under him) and pressed the button to expand the communicator that would give her a direct line to Bulma. The small box appeared in a puff of smoke and she pushed the on button, already feeling better.

The machine did nothing.

Frowning, she pushed the button again, willing the screen to brighten and give her a menu. Still nothing happened. Panic began to well up inside her again, and she pulled her uncle's cell phone out from his back pocket, another struggle, made even worse by cold and fear. It also didn't turn on, but it was hard to tell if she was pushing the button hard enough through her thick mittens. Eventually she fumbled them off and sat, shivering, pressing the on button over and over. Nothing. It was dead.

A strangled sob escaped her throat, and she took more deep breaths. She was shivering hard now, and she realized her uncle must be even colder. Carefully she took out the house capsule and threw it, hoping it wasn't also busted. Luckily it expanded, and she took Seventeen by the armpits and dragged him inside. None of the electronics inside worked, but it was better than being out in the snow. She was unable to get him into bed, so she put a pillow under his head where he lay on the floor, and went outside to test their vehicle capsules.

All four cars were nonstarters, as were the motorcycles and the snow mobiles. There were two bicycles, but the road was too snow-covered to make that a viable option, and plus she didn't know how to ride one anyway. She opened the other capsule case, the one with smaller items, and as her eyes roamed the contents, trying to find something that might be useful, her attention was snagged by the capsule holding her uncle's gun.

If she was going to have to walk to civilization, which was looking more and more likely, it would be foolhardy to go unarmed. She wasn't sure how far it was to the town they had spotted, and it was evening, soon to be dark. She had potentially miles of open, rough terrain to make her way through and all kinds of wild animals or nefarious, evil poachers could be out there between it and her.

On the other hand, Seventeen had been livid when she'd taken his gun last time, and the memory made her hesitate, despite knowing he would probably approve in this situation. Frowning, she looked at him where he lay near her on the floor, breathing shallowly, his face utterly still. Normally he frowned in his sleep, a gentle creasing of his brow and pursing of his lips, but now he looked almost serene. She wondered if this was what he'd looked like when Dr. Gero had been working on him and her mom, and she shook her head to get rid of that thought before she could imagine it too hard.

"Okay!" she said loudly, standing up. "Uncle, I'm sorry, but I have to walk to town and I need to take your gun. I promise I won't do anything dangerous with it or point it at anybody unless they're trying to hurt me. You... you be good until I get back, okay?"

Talking to him like she expected an answer made her want to cry, so she took the capsule with the gun and pulled her mittens back on, squaring her shoulders and marching out the door.

And ran into a large, solid person standing right outside.

"Oof!" she said, stumbling backwards. She started to apologize, and then caught sight of the person's face: bulging eyes in a hideous face covered with badly healed scars. She screamed and backed up. The man yelled too, which made Marron scream harder. She popped the rifle and plucked it out of the air, pointing it at him, terror and adrenaline making her movements smooth and precise.

"Go away!" she yelled. "It's loaded! I'll shoot! I will!"

The large man backed away, looking as shocked and frightened as Marron felt.

"I'm sorry," he said. "Don't hurt me."

He cowered, putting his hands over his head, and Marron found it difficult to stay frightened of someone who was so obviously frightened of her. She lowered the gun, pointing the barrel at the floor, though she remained ready to fire if he turned out to be faking. He peeked out from between large fingers.

"What do you want?" Marron demanded.

"He's hurt, isn't he?" the man said, looking past her into the house at her uncle. "I wanted to help."

At first she felt only guilt at having pointed a gun at someone who was just trying to be nice. But then suspicion took over as she realized something.

"How do you know that? Have you been watching us? Who are you?"

Her grip on the gun tightened, though she resisted the impulse to raise it again. The man kept his hands up in full view, which made her feel better but also made her second guess her suspicion.

"I'm Android 8," the man said. "I saw him fall from far away. I came as fast as I could."

"You're... an android?" Marron repeated, shock erasing most of her fear. "Like...?"

"I think he is too," Android 8 said. "Isn't he? He fell down, but you didn't. That must mean you're not an android."

"Why did he fall down?" she asked, exhausted by the war between fear and trust. He didn't seem to want to do anything but help, but he knew things he shouldn't know and he was so scary-looking. "What did you do?"

"I didn't!" he protested earnestly. "Dr. Frappe did, though. He was my creator. He's old now, and he got confused. He made traps for androids. I was out trying to get rid of them. He didn't mean it, though! He thinks it's a long time ago, and he's afraid of the Red Ribbon Army."

"You're not with them, are you?" Marron demanded. One of the only things she knew for sure about her mother and her uncle's pasts was that the Red Ribbon Army had been involved in a  _bad_  way. If he was against them then he was probably okay. Android 8 shook his head wildly.

"No! I hate the Red Ribbon Army! But Goku saved me, and now I live here. Please let me help him. I won't hurt you, I promise."

Name-dropping Goku decided it for her. He would have no way of knowing she knew Goku, so either this was some very elaborate plan to kidnap her and take the dragon balls, or he was telling the truth, and Marron's gut told her it was the latter. She lowered her left hand from the gun with a sigh, stepping aside to let him in. Android 8 smiled and edged his way through the narrow doorway.

"I need to take him to my house," he said, picking up her uncle as though he were a doll. "I'll walk slow so you can follow."

He walked outside, taking care not to knock Seventeen against the door frame as he did so, and Marron followed him, wondering if her decision to trust him was a good one. She capsulized the house while he waited, and then they walked down the road, Android 8 carefully stepping around the spot where her uncle had fallen.

"I'm pretty sure that's the last trap," he said. "I'm sorry he got caught in it. You can have some hot cocoa when we get to my house. My friend Suno will make some for us. She's good at making hot cocoa."

He continued chatting in this vein all the way into a small village. Marron made no reply to any of it. She was exhausted: from her long day of travel, from it being so cold, from fear and adrenaline and from walking behind Android 8, who, while he was certainly pacing himself, still walked much faster than she was used to. It was a huge relief when he turned into the doorway of a house and she could sit down.

It was a cozy little cottage, with a kitchen table at the center and a mismatched collection of furniture arranged around the hearth, which had a blazing fire in it. There was a worn but lovingly-made rag rug in the center of the room, and a hallway leading to somewhere Marron couldn't see. The warmth from the fire soaked into her bones, making her drowsy on top of being exhausted.

"Suno!" Android 8 called, setting down Seventeen on the kitchen table with as much care as a mother with her newborn baby. "Suno, we have guests!"

A kind-looking woman with red hair tied under a kerchief came into the room from the hallway, her hands flying to her face at the sight of a man on the table.

"Oh my goodness!" she exclaimed. "Eighter, who is that?"

"He got caught in one of Dr. Frappe's traps," Eighter explained. "She was with him," he added, gesturing to Marron, who mustered the strength to stand.

"Oh, you poor dear," Suno said, coming over to her. She bent down and peered into Marron's face, checking her over. She gave Marron a friendly smile. "What's your name?"

"Marron," Marron said, her voice croaking. " Will..." She swallowed to clear her throat. "Will he be alright?"

"I think so," Eighter said. "I can fix things really good."

"Eighter," Suno scolded, turning to him with a confused smile. "Don't call people things. And what do you mean, you'll fix him? You're not a doctor."

"He's an android," Eighter explained patiently. "Like me."

Suno turned to Marron, her mouth and eyes wide and round.

"Red Ribbon?" she asked. Marron nodded. "What's his designation?"

Marron had to swallow again. She felt tears like a lake behind her forehead, but none fell. It was getting harder and harder to stay present, to not just curl up in a ball and go to sleep. Her uncle, still as death, lay on the table as unresponsive as ever after hours of being unconscious. If he'd been a normal human he'd be waking up by now. But he wasn't human. He'd wanted her to remember that. He and her mother weren't human anymore. She had never understood why her uncle made such a big deal out of it, why her mother hated talking about it. Maybe they hadn't chosen it, but being able to fly and pick up cars had always seemed like something to be happy about. She had never thought about the price they paid for it.

"Seventeen," she whispered.

"Oh, my," Suno whispered back. "That many...?"

"Who built him?" Eighter asked, removing her uncle's coat and kerchief with extreme tenderness.

"Dr. Gero," Marron whispered, and then felt compelled to add, despite what her uncle insisted, "But he was a human before..."

Eighter looked up at her in alarm.

"A human?" he repeated incredulously. "That's awful. Poor guy. I'll do everything I can to help him."

His tone was so compassionate, so sincere, that it was no use. Marron leaned over and began to quietly sob.

* * *

Weight returned first, followed closely by feeling. He felt the sensation of his own body lying prone return to him by a trickle that grew into a rush of pins and needles, and he made to cry out, though whether he did or not was unknown to him. He could once again discern that he was breathing, a welcome relief, and with that came his sense of smell: baking bread and piney scents, as well as the sharp flash of ozone he could only surmise came from himself. His internal computer booted up at this point, and he felt his face constrict as warnings and error messages blared in his brain. He dealt with each one, and when he had readjusted the settings on his optical sensors, they too came back online. He opened his eyes, blinked, and tried to sit up.

"Not yet," said a voice, and a hand pushed him gently back down.  _Renegade android detected. Model Number: 8. Created by―_

"Yeah, yeah," he muttered, whether to the android or his systems he didn't know. He let himself be pushed back, and realized he could hear. He ran his diagnostic program when he felt the port in his chest snap shut, and he lay there in a cozy haze for some time, until―

"Marron!" He sat up, muscles sore and protesting, and glanced around wildly. There―he hopped off the table and staggered over to her―poor little lightning bug, she looked terrible―where were they anyway―whoa, he didn't remember making an appointment with the floor.

When darkness overtook him this time, it was complete and true unconsciousness.

* * *

After he regained consciousness and he could sit up without fainting, and after Suno introduced herself and Eighter, Seventeen looked to his niece, wrapped in a blanket and holding a mug of something in her hands. Her eyes were staring into nothing, and the hands wrapped around the mug were trembling. He slid off the table and knelt in front of her, fighting a wave of dizziness.

"Hey, bug," he said gently. "You okay?"

The trembling grew worse, and tears began pouring down her cheeks. Her eyes still did not focus. They had told him what happened, and he could piece in the rest. She was probably in shock.

"Hey, c'mere," he said, pulling her into his arms. Loud, keening sobs tore the air, and he was grateful when he sensed the other occupants of the house move to another room. "Shh," he soothed, as she clung to him, "Shh, it's okay, bug, I'm okay, I'm here."

"I'm―sorry―" she sobbed brokenly. "I'm―sorry I―took―your gun―without―asking―"

"Hey," he said, stroking her hair, sorrowfully amused that the thing she was most worried about was that. "Hey, it's okay. You did good, kiddo, okay? Don't worry. I'm not mad. Okay? I'm not mad."

She continued to sob wordlessly, and he let her cry it out. It was embarrassing, but he owed her big time. He'd been careless and she'd had to deal with the consequences on her own. Letting her cry was the least he could do. Besides, he decided, as her tears soaked into his shirt, it was kind of nice to be needed.


	6. Chapter 6

They made a pact not to tell Eighteen about the episode, both keenly aware that to even hint about it would have disastrous and road-trip-ending consequences.

"But we should probably be more careful," Seventeen added, as he soldered another circuit board. It was the next morning, and Eighter was outside fixing their vehicles. It was time consuming, but ultimately an easy fix for everything that had been collateral damage from the trap. They'd met the perpetrator Dr. Frappe, a frail old man with a poof of white hair on his head, now living in Suno's guest bedroom. He had chatted weakly but contentedly to Marron, who he called Susie, and it had been almost impossible to be angry with someone so obviously senile. Actually, Seventeen had just been impressed he'd been physically able to set up as many traps as he had. "I think we've both been treating this like a vacation, and it's not really."

Marron made to protest, and then let out a noisy breath as she realized he spoke the truth.

"Yeah, a little, I guess," she admitted in a small voice. She handed Seventeen another piece of solder. "What do you think we should do?"

"Well, you need your own gun, for one," Seventeen pronounced. Marron's jaw dropped and her face lit up like a sunrise.

"But I thought..."

Seventeen chuckled.

"I know I got mad back at Yamcha's, but I think you've learned your lesson. It's dangerous out here, and you need to be able to defend yourself if you have to. You just have to promise that you will  _only_  use it for self-defense if I'm not there, okay?"

Marron nodded so hard her pigtails bounced up and down.

"I promise," she said. Seventeen just hoped he wouldn't regret this decision.

"You'll probably have to leave it with me once we get home," he said. "I doubt your mom would be too thrilled with the idea."

Marron rolled her eyes in agreement. Seventeen flipped the calculator over and tested it.

"Good as new," he pronounced, replacing the backing and screwing it in place. "Hopefully Bulma will never find out we almost ruined all her stuff."

"I don't think she'll care," Marron said, pressing buttons on the now working calculator until it spelled 'hello' upside down.

"You're probably right." Seventeen stood and went to the door. "Hey, Eighter, how's it coming?"

He stepped outside and shut the door behind him, leaving Marron with the calculator and a slight headache. The cottage was quiet in a way Kame House never was. Aside from the near-constant noise the many occupants made shouting, cajoling, teasing or just chatting quietly, there was always the soft shush of waves on the shore in the background, even at night when everyone else was asleep. Out here the snow absorbed everything and made a silence so profound it felt like cotton balls were pressing on her ears.

Outside she heard Suno's voice, addressing Eighter and her uncle, and she got up and went to investigate.

"...so you'll understand if no one wants to help look for it," Suno was saying apologetically. Seventeen nodded.

"That's not a problem. Hey, squirt, do you have the dragon radar?"

Marron took it out and passed it to him, curious about the conversation she'd missed. He turned it on and zoomed out a bit.

"Yeah, looks like it isn't even in the village," he told Suno, "so no worries there. Besides, we're doing this for fun. No need to get anyone else involved."

"Still," Suno said, smiling and blushing a little, "it does feel a little rude to get you two mixed up in our business and then do nothing to help you. Are you  _sure_  there's nothing we can do?"

Seventeen gave a Suno a slow look Marron had no idea how to interpret. Then he smiled distantly, turning to look at Eighter.

"No, I think once this car's done we'll be on our way."

There was a charged moment during which Suno appeared to be waiting for something, and then, when whatever it was didn't happen, her face fell slightly, though she covered immediately by fluffing her apron and turning to Marron.

"Well!" she said brightly, smiling a little too widely. "At the very least I can send you on your way with something good to eat. I'll go make something."

And she bustled into the house.

Marron was completely at a loss. She looked at Eighter, who had been watching from underneath the car he was working on, but he seemed as confused as she was.

"What did you say to Suno?" Marron asked her uncle. He frowned at her as though she'd said something rude.

"I didn't say anything!" he said defensively. "Make sure you have all your stuff, bug, we're leaving soon."

And he opened the car door and got in, leaning down to work on the wiring. Marron rolled her eyes and huffed in frustration, lifting her hands to the sky and then dropping them as though appealing to the gods for help understanding her uncle, or maybe grownups in general. She followed Suno into the house, determined to help her with the cooking, since it was clear her uncle had done  _something_ , and she could at least try to make up for it if he wasn't going to.

It all slid into place once they had the dragon ball (buried in the snow a few miles north of town) and were eating the lunches Suno had made them. They were both delicious and packed with care and attention, but Seventeen's had hearts cut out of ham sitting on the rice, and Marron and he both stared at them blankly for a moment.

"Ohhhh, she  _likes_  you!" Marron exclaimed, pleased to have figured it out. Seventeen scowled at her and used his spoon to stir up the ham bits, burying the hearts deeply and taking a big bite. "Do you like her back?" she asked, though she was pretty sure the answer was no. Her uncle gave her a dark glare, made much less intimidating by his cheeks bulging from having taken such a huge bite. "Aww, why not?"

He swallowed.

"I just don't, okay?" he said defensively. But Marron wasn't about to let go of a game that promised to be as fun as this one did.

"But why? She's a good cook, and she's really pretty."

Her uncle sighed, stirring his ham and rice absently.

"I'm not..." he began, and Marron held her breath, not wanting to startle him out of whatever reflections he was currently having. After a moment, though, he came to himself, giving her an annoyed look. "I'm not discussing this with you."

He dug into his lunch with renewed vigor, and did not respond to any of Marron's entreaties. Eventually she exhausted herself on his silence and started pointedly ignoring him instead. He let this go on for a few hours, but by the time they had been traveling long enough to be back in a car he decided enough was enough.

They were driving down long mountain switchbacks, and on one of the straight-aways he swerved the car gently into the other lane and back, over and over again. When this elicited no response he made his turns more and more jerky until finally Marron laughed in spite of herself, and then immediately yelled at him.

"Stop making me laugh!"

"But I'm so good at it," he said, laughing. She had her arms crossed tightly over her chest, and she was attempting to glare, but the smile threatening to break through her mouth rather ruined the intended effect.

"I'm still mad at you," she said, but she didn't sound very mad.

"And why is that?"

"You never answered my question."

"Which question?"

She gave him a condescending look.

"Why don't you want a girlfriend?"

Seventeen sighed, giving himself until the next switch back to answer.

"What would I even do with a girlfriend?" he asked, mostly to stall. She shrugged.

"I don't know, aren't you just supposed to have one?"

Amused at this, he pretended to be offended.

"Oh, I'm  _supposed_ to, huh? So if I don't there's something wrong with me?"

She was clearly not as amused as himself.

"No, just… Isn't having a girlfriend or a boyfriend supposed to make you happy?"

His humor abruptly evaporated and he frowned.

"Falling in love does  _not_ automatically make you happy," he said sternly. As far as he could tell it was often rather the opposite. True, he hadn't ever been in love himself. But he had watched far too many people who were supposedly in love tear each other apart to ever buy in to the hype. Her own parents' marriage seemed to be an exception to the rule, bless them, but he hoped she took his words to heart anyway.

"How do you know? You said you'd never been in love."

Curse her and her impeccable memory. He had been considering letting her drive once they got to the bottom of the mountain, but that was definitely not happening now.

"That is one of the reasons why I haven't."

Her face puckered like she'd eaten a sour grape.

"Uncle, you're being confusing."

"It's complicated!"

"You always say that!"

He bit back something scathing and settled on,

"I'm a complicated person, bug. Both me and your mom are. Deal with it."

She huffed loudly in annoyance at the mention of her mother and turned away to look out the window, clearly dismissing him. For his part, he was happy to be dismissed. There was nothing about the topic of love he enjoyed discussing with anyone under any circumstances, but talking about it with someone so naively interested in his own love life in particular was nearly unbearable.

Once they got down out of the mountains, however, driving through long swathes of pine forest, he relented a bit.

"If you want to know why I'm not interested in Suno," he said, startling Marron out of a half doze, "she's just not my type. Okay?"

Marron sat up a little, wiping the sleep out of her eyes. She sniffed a little and said,

"Sheesh, uncle, you could have just said that from the beginning."

He reached over and poked her hard in her ribs, prompting a squeal and retaliation in kind. The tickle war escalated, both parties laughing and threatening, until a ceasefire was called on account of a near miss with a tree.


	7. Chapter 7

The next ball was almost due south, and Seventeen figured it would take about six days to reach it. The enormous trees that grew just below the mountains were uniformly breathtaking, and after the tickle war was over they spoke mostly about the untouched natural beauty around them. The fourth day out brought them to less beautiful but more civilized parts: a flat, brown plain still far from any large cities, but with paved roads instead of gravel tracks. On occasion they would pass other cars. At about mid afternoon Seventeen spotted a hitchhiker in the distance, and he considered whether to slow down. Marron's presence made him land on the side of not stopping, but as they drew closer and he could make out more detail, he realized that he knew this particular hitchhiker. The knowledge did not make him any more likely to stop.

"Trunks!" Marron cried joyfully, which meant Seventeen had to slow down whether he liked it or not. As he pulled up, he saw Trunks smirk.

"Fancy meeting you here," he said, jumping into the car. Seventeen turned around in the driver's seat and fixed him with what he hoped was an intimidating glare.

"Do your parents know you're here?" he asked. Trunks flipped his hair back from his face in a calculated gesture that made Seventeen want to throttle him.

"I'm fifteen, I can go where I want," he said, and Seventeen snorted loudly.

"Somehow I doubt that. Give me one good reason why I shouldn't give Bulma a call right now."

"Aw, come on, I thought you were the fun uncle," Trunks cajoled. Seventeen maintained his flat stare.

"Come on, uncle," Marron joined in, and he was forced to break from Trunks' gaze. "Why not? It'll be nice to have company."

It was probably a little immature to feel slighted by a ten year old with a crush, but Seventeen did anyway.

"I thought this was a family road trip," he said, trying not to sound like he was whining.

"I'm practically family, aren't I?" Trunks said. Marron looked at her uncle with pleading eyes, and after another moment's hesitation, he rolled his eyes and relented.

"Fine. But it's on your head if you get grounded or whatever."

"I won't," Trunks assured them, leaning back in the backseat like he was being chauffeured. Seventeen ground his teeth and started up the car. "Where are we going?"

"South," Marron said, turning in her seat to show him the dragon radar. "See? We're looking for the seven star ball."

"Why are you driving, anyway?" Trunks asked. "Couldn't you just fly there in, like, five minutes?"

"It's more fun this way," Marron explained. They chatted, Trunks obviously humoring someone he saw as a child, Marron obviously smitten and trying to act cool, and Seventeen glowering out the window, pondering how to get rid of this intruder and get his road trip back on track.

* * *

That night they stopped at an open patch of ground bordered by a few scraggly trees and popped open the house capsule. Trunks clearly expected to be taken care of, and when Seventeen informed him that not only was he not letting him borrow any of his clothes, but he was also not allowed to sleep inside, his expression turned ugly.

"What do you mean I'm sleeping outside?"

"I mean, we only have the two beds, and I'm not sharing."

Trunks stared at him in angry disbelief, but Seventeen felt absolutely no remorse. No one had asked him to come, and if roughing it bothered him that much maybe he shouldn't have run away from his mansion. He wondered if this would be enough to put him off the idea of staying with them. But after a brief stare down during which Marron's wide eyes flicked back and forth between the two of them, her wadded up pajamas held tight against her chest, Trunks deflated and he scuffed the ground with his foot.

"Fine, I can sleep in the car."

He turned, hands thrust deep in his pockets, to do just that, and Seventeen saw Marron's mouth open in invitation just in time to catch her eye and shake his head decisively. He ushered her inside and closed the door.

"Uncle, we can't just let him sleep outside!" she protested. "He can sleep on the floor, or I can sleep on the floor and he can have my bed."

"Bug, there are a thousand reasons why that is not going to happen," Seventeen said, turning away to rummage through his bag for a change of clothes. He heard Marron take in an angry breath behind him, and turned to meet her eyes. "One of those reasons is that he's obviously run away from home and I am not about to make that comfortable for him."

"But why not?"

Seventeen straightened, holding a shirt in one hand, considering how to explain. Eventually he settled for,

"Because no one can run away from their problems forever, bug."

He didn't miss the expression on his niece's face, but he couldn't for the life of him decode it, so he walked past her into the bathroom without further comment, pleading with her in his mind to give it up.

It seemed as though she had, for though she turned her nose up at him when he exited the bathroom, she did not resume her pleas. When she went in for her bath, Seventeen stepped outside and rapped on the window of the car where Trunks had curled up on the backseat. The boy raised his head, clearly still wide awake, and slowly sat up. He exited the car when Seventeen motioned for him to, his demeanor wary. Seventeen stood with his arms folded, studying the boy.

"What's this about, kid?" he asked. Trunks scowled.

"None of your business," he mumbled to the ground.

"You made it my business when you asked for a ride," Seventeen pointed out. "I let you hang out with us today because Marron wanted you here, but if you want to stay tomorrow you're going to have to convince me to let you."

The boy stared thoughtfully at the ground for a long while, and then eventually looked up at Seventeen appraisingly.

"Do you know what my dad used to do, before he came to earth?" he asked. Ah, there it was. Seventeen didn't hang out with his sister's group of friends very often, but he heard the gossip and he had their files. He was also one of the participants in an unspoken pact between the lot of them to never mention certain things to certain people. Yamcha having been a bandit in his teens was something they politely didn't mention much, but also didn't try very hard to hide. On the other hand, things like Vegeta having been a genocidal space pirate or Piccolo's former life mission having been to kill Goku were things that all of them understood were to be kept from the children at all costs. He wondered who had let it slip.

"More or less," he replied. Trunks grinned bitterly.

"He used to kill people for a living," he said with mock enthusiasm. "Whole planets at a time. Used to blow up entire civilizations so his old boss could turn around and sell the planets for a profit. He was even going to do that to Earth, before Goku stopped him. Told me all about it yesterday. So I kind of don't want to look at his face right now."

_You could cut wood with that tone_ , thought Seventeen, impressed. He cocked his head. Trunks was looking a little crazed, though the pain he was obviously hiding was bubbling up through his facade.

"What about your little friend? Why don't you go to him?"

The manic grin subsided and the boy's gaze once again dropped to the dirt.

"Goten doesn't know," he said in a low voice. "So I don't want to look at his face right now either."

Seventeen thought morbidly about what the fallout might be like if Marron ever learned more details about her mother's (and his own) past, and felt a flash of compassion replace his mild distaste for the boy.

"All right," he said finally. "You can hang out with us for a while. But only until we find the next ball. After that you're on your own."

Trunks nodded, and then, remembering his manners, said, "Thanks."

Seventeen went back to the house, little knowing that his niece was still in the tub, sitting motionless underneath a slightly opened window, eyes wide and breathing artificially even. When she didn't emerge for almost an hour he chalked it up to her still being mad at him, and didn't think anything of it.

* * *

After days of driving though unmitigated wilderness, they were delighted to finally happen upon a town in time for lunch. They stopped at a restaurant, Marron and Seventeen eager for food they hadn't cooked themselves. The fare on offer was a little exotic compared to their mostly western tastes, but it smelled delicious.

"What are you getting, Trunks?" Marron asked him, after sounding out the strange names of the food on the menu. The kid grimaced and looked at Seventeen.

"I don't have any money on me..." he admitted, to Seventeen's amazement.

"What kind of person runs away from home without even a wallet?"

Trunks shrugged, obviously not too bothered by the idea of being in the middle of the wilderness with nothing to his name. A large portion of the compassion he had engendered in Seventeen last night evaporated in the face of such burning apathy towards money.

"Well, I'm not buying you anything," he said, sticking his nose in his menu. He didn't want to see Marron's outrage. After a moment, though, he heard her offer to buy Trunks lunch with her own money, and he decided not to say anything. Her money, her loss. Luckily the kid at least seemed to understand gratitude, because he thanked her profusely, and spent all of lunch doing magic tricks and making her laugh.

After a few more hours spent driving they arrived at the ocean, where a nice sandy beach stretched out invitingly. It seemed the ball was likely buried somewhere in the sand, and Marron squealed with delight and kicked off her shoes, running full pelt toward the water. Trunks followed more sedately, and Seventeen, who had no desire to get his sneakers full of sand, stayed with the car. Out of the corner of his brain he felt a slight flicker of energy, and turned toward the source. Looming above the beach was an outcropping of rock, and standing nearly at the top, mostly out of sight of the beach, was a familiar, pointy-haired silhouette. Seventeen sighed, but then flew up to join the man, who had clearly been trying to surreptitiously catch his attention.

Seventeen landed on the rock next to Vegeta, both of them looking out at the sea. From their vantage point they could just make out the children, tiny dots on the beach that were unlikely to be able to see them in return. Vegeta was silent so long Seventeen thought he might have to say something first, but eventually he spoke.

"I hope Trunks has been behaving himself."

He said it like if Seventeen so much as hinted that he wasn't, he'd go down there and remove him from their roadtrip personally and with great speed. Though the thought of getting rid of the boy appealed somewhat, Seventeen shook his head.

"He's been fine. He's leaving after we find this one anyway. Want me to let him know you're here?"

The tension in Vegeta's stance ratcheted up considerably, which was about what Seventeen had expected.

"There is no need," he said quickly.

"Why  _are_  you here?" Seventeen asked, determined to make this as uncomfortable as possible. His cool-uncle roadtrip had been derailed and he intended to take it out on  _somebody_. Vegeta's crossed arms tightened.

"Trunks was asking about the... incident with Marron," he said slowly. "One thing lead to another, and..."

"What do you mean, the  _incident_?" Seventeen said icily, uncrossing his arms and facing Vegeta. The man looked caught off guard, and then wary.

"Surely you noticed the cast," he mumbled. Seventeen felt white-hot fury bubble up through his placid veneer.

"She told me she punched a wall," he said, voice eerily calm. In fact, Marron had implied that her frustration over her parents' fight had been the reason for punching said wall, so he hadn't pushed it. Now he realized the idea of Marron punching a wall out of anger was patently absurd. Vegeta seemed to hesitate, and then faced Seventeen squarely.

"Actually, it was my jaw," he said. The fury dissipated somewhat, replaced by shock.

"I beg your pardon?"

"She said she had never punched someone before, but I did not believe she would hurt herself that badly."

"I'm sorry, why was Marron punching you exactly?"

Vegeta shifted uncomfortably, but stood his ground.

"I wished to allow her to even the score."

The fury was coming back.

"Even the score for  _what_?"

It looked as though Vegeta was wishing he'd kept his mouth shut, but Seventeen had to hand it to the guy, he did not back down from a challenge.

"She caught me unawares when I was sleeping and I... reacted without thinking. She was unharmed but likely very frightened, and I wished to make up for it. I did not want her to remain afraid."

Amazement mingled with the fury, and Seventeen turned away to stare at the tiny dot that was Marron, currently playing in the water with the other tiny dot that was Trunks. To his surprise Vegeta spoke again.

"She is stronger than she looks."

"Who, Marron?"

"Indeed. She is as... unassuming as her father, but there is fire there."

"Buddy, you have no idea," Seventeen said. He thought of the recent "incident" of his own, and decided not to murder Vegeta on the spot. Not that he likely could, these days. "Does my sister know?"

"...Yes."

Seventeen remembered the black eye Vegeta had been sporting at the beginning of their trip, and felt pretty confident he could put two and two together. He decided to stick with the discomfort track of taking revenge.

"Trunks said you finally told him about your former occupation." He saw the other man twitch out of the corner of his eye, and he smirked. "I'd appreciate it if you didn't mention stuff like that to Marron."

"Of course not!" Vegeta scoffed. "I didn't want to tell Trunks either, but once he asked about Marron the topic came up and I was forced to tell him the rest. That damn brat is too smart for his own good."

"I will agree with you on that," Seventeen said, with feeling. His tone apparently caught Vegeta's ear.

"Are you sure you don't want me to take him? I expected him to hide out with Goten, but the boy hasn't seen him in days. Why did he choose to bother the two of you instead of his best friend?"

Seventeen shrugged.

"I don't pretend to know what goes on in the head of somebody who just learned their father's a murderer," he said casually, and delighted in the way Vegeta's fists clenched.

"Watch it, tin can," he said. "I didn't come here to pick a fight, but if you start one I will gladly finish it."

"Who's starting fights?" Seventeen wondered expansively. "I'm not the one who goes around asking little girls to punch them in the face."

Vegeta breathed deeply through nose and clenched teeth, giving Seventeen a murderous glare, but he seemed to realize he was being baited, because he eventually calmed himself down and refolded his arms across his chest.

"I was worried about my son being a bad influence on the girl," he said. "But it seems you have that covered."

Seventeen laughed. Getting Marron to punch him aside, Vegeta actually seemed to be an alright guy. Way less uptight than the last time they'd spoken, which, come to think of it, had probably been all the way back when they were still enemies. He was contemplating whether or not to ask when he'd had the chip on his shoulder removed, when suddenly the crack of a rifle being fired sounded through the air.

Both men turned their heads sharply toward the sound. Seventeen squinted, and saw Marron holding her shotgun to her shoulder, aiming at Trunks, who was flying lazily through the air. She took another shot and the boy caught it, right at chest level. If he'd been a normal human, he'd be dead. Both children laughed.

"They're playing," Seventeen moaned, burying his head in his hands. Vegeta scoffed.

"How childish. Are you sure you don't want me to take him off your hands before I go?"

"No need. But Vegeta," he said as the other man turned to go. "Just so we're clear: you ever lay a finger on Marron again? They won't even find a body."

The look Vegeta turned on him was grim.

"Believe me," he said in a voice made of stone, "There will not be a second time."

And because Vegeta was the type who just  _had_ to have the last word, he flew away without waiting for a reply. Seventeen sighed deeply, pushing his hair back from his face with both hands, and flew down to the beach where Marron was still 'playing' with Trunks.

"Hey, bug, how about we don't shoot at people, okay?" he said in a mock friendly tone. Marron turned to him, eagerly apologetic.

"I'm sorry uncle, I know you made me promise, but Trunks can catch bullets!"

"So can I, but that doesn't mean I want people shooting at me."

Trunks landed lightly on the sand.

"I told her it was okay," he said, tossing his hair out of his face. "I'm helping her practice on a moving target."

It was so far from the point that Seventeen decided to just let it go.

"Regardless," he said, hoping he came across as a responsible adult and not the fraud he felt like, "no more live target practice while you're with me."

"Fine," Marron said, a little morosely.

"Don't we have a dragon ball to find?" Seventeen reminded her, and she brightened, encapsulating the rifle and taking out the dragon radar. He watched as the two of them played hot and cold until finally Trunks got down on his hands and knees and started to dig at the spot Marron indicated. Marron shrieked with laughter like the child she mostly still was as he deliberately aimed the spray of sand in her direction. After a few minutes of digging he held up the seven star ball, grinning triumphantly.

"My lady," he said with exaggerated formality, bowing as he handed it over. She giggled and curtsied and accepted the ball.

"Only one more to go!" she cried, turning to Seventeen with a wide grin. He smiled back, her joy as infectious as ever.

"I guess that's my exit," Trunks said, getting to his feet and brushing sand from his pants.

"Aww," Marron whined. "Can't he stay longer, uncle?"

"I really should get home, squirt," Trunks said before Seventeen had a chance to say anything. "I had fun. Let me know what you wish for, okay?"

He turned to fly away, but Marron told him to wait. She hesitated for a moment, and then stood on tiptoe and kissed him on the cheek. Trunks stared down at her, nonplussed. Marron smiled a sad, grown up smile and said,

"It'll be okay, Trunks."

He blinked at her for a few seconds, seeming to truly see her for perhaps the first time. Then he gave her a confused nod and flew away. Seventeen stared down at his niece, one eyebrow raised. She met his gaze defiantly.

"I heard you guys talking last night," she said by way of explanation. Her bravado was belied by the restless way she was rolling the dragon ball in her hands. Seventeen wondered if he should ask how she felt about having punched a former planet killer in the face, but refrained.

"You ready to go?" he asked. She gazed up at the sky where Trunks had disappeared, wistful.

"Yeah, let's go," she said, and trudged back to the car. Seventeen held back a sigh.  _This was your idea,_ he scolded himself, and followed his niece to the car.


	8. Chapter 8

The dragon radar led them straight to a large outdoor shopping mall. Marron, reluctant to end the road trip quite yet, decided to go window shopping, and Seventeen, for the same reason, agreed. After mall-crawling for a while they got ice cream cones and sat down on a bench to people watch. It was a beautiful day, the weather pleasantly warm but not stiflingly hot, and the ice cream was creamy and good. They engaged in languid, unhurried conversation until a small commotion happened in the plaza in front of them.

A small boy burst into tears, and from the looks of things he had just noticed he had gotten separated from his mother. A mall attendant knelt down next to the boy, trying to calm him down, but before too long a woman with hair the same color as the boy hurried over. From their vantage point, Marron and Seventeen could clearly hear her comforting and cajoling the boy into better spirits. This had apparently happened before, and the mother patiently reminded the boy that she had come back to him then, too. This seemed to calm him, and the attendant released him into his mother's care, the incident ending with hardly more than a pause in the bustle of shopping.

Marron, surprised at herself, could feel tears pricking at her eyes. She took a big lick of ice cream and swallowed the tears down with the cool treat.

"Uncle, why is my mom so…"

She had been avoiding thinking about her parents during the entire road trip, but now her mother was all she could focus on. She did her best to gather her thoughts, and then pressed on.

"Like, she never smiles hardly ever, and she acts like stuff doesn't bother her even when it does, and… and stuff."

"You mean, why is your mother a refrigerator?"

"Uncle!" Marron was equal parts horrified and delighted at his flippancy. At least he seemed to understand what she'd been getting at. Marron had always just accepted that her mother was a closed off, non-demonstrative sort of person. It was just the way she was, and Marron had never thought to question or even wonder about it before. It had certainly never occurred to her that there might be  _reasons_  why her mother was the way she was. Seventeen let out a long, slow sigh and slouched in his seat until his legs stretched out straight before him, his sneakered feet resting on their heels.

"Always with the big questions," he said under his breath. In a more audible voice he continued, "That's just how she copes, bug."

Marin's frustrated sigh communicated clearly how inadequate she found that.

"But  _why?_  Why is she like that? You're not like that. My dad isn't like that. Vegeta's like that, but he's… he was…"

Marron slowly trailed off as what she was saying finally penetrated. She gave her uncle a slow look.

"Uncle Seventeen, did my mom ever-"

"No," Seventeen said swiftly, harshly.

"You didn't let me finish," Marron said, put out.

"I didn't have to," Seventeen said sternly. "You know better than to ask questions like that."

She did know better, but for the first time she wondered why the rule was in place. What was it they were trying to keep from her? She had always been told that line of questioning would make her mom and uncle sad, but Seventeen was acting like her just knowing was the bad thing. He didn't seem sad, anyway. He seemed, if anything, angry; agitated. Maybe he really was sad and it was coming out like anger.

"I'm sorry," she said sincerely. "I just wanted to know more about my mom."

"There are some things you're never going to know about her, okay? Things she doesn't want you to know."

It was as though she had been literally slapped in the face. Tears welled up in her eyes completely unbidden, and she turned away from her uncle, breath coming shallowly as she struggled not to cry. Despite the fact that her mother had never once acted like the warm, effusive person they had just witnessed in the plaza, Marron had never  _ever_  doubted that she loved her. The idea that there were things her mother didn't want her to know, as though there were parts of her life Marron was unwelcome in, was almost physically painful. She heard her uncle gently say her name and felt him put his hand on her shoulder.

"What?" he asked. "What's wrong?"

"Why?" she asked, her voice squeaking a little. "Why doesn't she want me to know?"

Seventeen put his arm all the way around her shoulder and scooted her next to him. She let him, leaning her head against the side of his chest. She could feel as well as hear him sigh deeply.

"Bug, what would that change, if you knew? What difference would it make? She'd still be your mom, wouldn't she?"

"It changed things for Trunks," she said sullenly. She didn't see him roll his eyes exasperatedly.

"Okay, maybe it changed some things. But it didn't change the fact that Vegeta is still his dad. Did you know he came to check on Trunks?"

She tilted her head up to look him in the face.

"He did?"

"Yep. He's still Trunks' dad, no matter what he might have done in the past."

Marron lowered her head, aware of where Seventeen was going with this.

"So you're saying it doesn't really matter if my mom used to be a murderer," she said sarcastically, still sullen.

"I didn't want to have to do this," she heard her uncle say under his breath. Without jostling Marron too much he pulled his phone out of his back pocket and scrolled through the photos until he found one of Marron at two years old, wearing Roshi's sunglasses and a feather boa, pretending to read a book. It was one of his romance novels, and the entwined couple on the cover were clearly visible, although they were also upside down, the Marron in the photo being much too young to actually know how to read.

"What are you going to do with that? Marron asked suspiciously.

"I was thinking about texting this to Trunks," Seventeen said nonchalantly. "I think he'd get a kick out of it."

"No!" Marron shrieked, clamoring for the phone. Seventeen held it high up out of her reach. "Uncle, you can't, please! Don't!"

"Why not? Since we're talking about laying people's pasts out for all to see and all. Why not give you a taste?"

Marron was now genuinely crying, still reaching for the phone ineffectually.

"No," she said miserably. "He'll hate me. He'll think I'm a stupid little baby."

"He might not," Seventeen said encouragingly. "Don't you want to get closer to him? People who are close share things like this with each other."

Marron realized what her uncle was doing and scooted over on the bench out of his reach. She fixed him with a glare full of hurt and anger.

"That is  _not_  the same thing," she said caustically. Seventeen leaned down so that his eyes were on the same level as hers and made piercing eye contact.

"No," he agreed. "What we're talking about is much worse. Take all those feelings you just had, and multiply them by a thousand. By a million. That's what your mom would go through if I sat here and told you all the sordid details of her life. She's not trying to exclude you." He leaned back and ran a hand through his hair wildly. "For all that is holy in the over and under world, we are just trying to  _protect_  you."

The words pierced her like thunder. Her mother, standing on the beach between her and Vegeta, embarrassing in her rage, but, ultimately, just trying to protect her. Her mother, reminding her of every silly little thing to do to keep safe: just trying to protect her. Her mother, stroking her hair and helping her pick out outfits, holding her hand and putting a cold cloth on her head during a fever, but never admitting she was sad, never admitting she was scared: just trying to protect her?

Marron sat back against the bench with a thud, all the fight leaving her at once. Her uncle watched her warily. After a long, long time she said meekly,

"You're not really going to send it to him, are you?"

He laughed, relieved.

"Bug, I don't even know his number."

She slapped his arm, still mad but ready to forgive.

"Uncle, you're mean! Don't ever do that again. Why do you even have that picture?"

"Your dad sent it to me," he said, pocketing his phone. "I'm going to keep it for always and treasure it until the day I die."

Not quite ready to joke again, Marron just shook her head and finished her ice cream.

"Let's go get the dragon ball," she said.

* * *

They found it sitting on a faded velvet pillow in the front window of a variety shop, flanked by an old tricycle and a painting of the fourth emperor. The price tag read 10,000 zeni, and Marron's face fell as she read it.

"I can't believe it! I don't have that kind of money, do you uncle?"

She glanced up at him without much hope. He shook his head.

"What do we do now?" she asked.

"We could steal it," Seventeen suggested. Marron gave his arm a good slap. He winced and rubbed it as though it actually hurt. "Alright, alright, easy on the goods. I was just kidding."

Marron knew perfectly well he had not been kidding. She leaned against the brick wall of the shop and slid down until she was sitting on the ground. Seventeen sat down next to her, and they both contemplated their next move.

Across the wide stone path that wound its way through the center of the shopping mall Marron could see the mother from earlier and her little boy. She had mounds of shopping bags in one hand and the boy was holding tightly to the other. She was attempting to open the door to a home goods shop, but the little boy wouldn't let go of her hand.

"Silba, for heaven's sake, you won't get lost if you let go of my hand for two seconds. Just hold on to my dress, you'll be okay."

The boy refused, until it looked like he was about to have another meltdown. The woman threw her head back and released a groan of frustration so loud it startled the boy, who began to cry in earnest. The woman looked down at her son, crying inconsolably, and then tilted her head back up to stare at the sky, her slumped posture and deep sigh more than adequately communicating her absolute doneness with the situation.

Marron felt a laugh bubbling up in her chest. Her mother had plenty of flaws, and she was still a little curious about her past, despite what her uncle had said, but she knew for a fact that Android Eighteen had never once lost her composure in the middle of a shopping mall.

She clambered to her feet and ran over to the woman.

"Here, let me get that for you," she said, opening the door. The woman looked down, startled, but upon realizing what Marron was doing she smiled gratefully.

"Such a nice girl," she said. "Your mother must be very proud."

Marron blushed and scraped the toe of her sneaker across the crack between two paving stones.

"I think she is," she said.

Seventeen gave her an amused, questioning smile when she returned. She stood over him where he still sat on the ground and held her hand out imperiously.

"Give me whatever money you have," she said. Her uncle raised an eyebrow.

"What for?" he asked, handing her 4,000 zeni. Marron reached into her pocket and pulled out the 2,000 zeni she had.

"I'm going to see if I can negotiate," she said, striding into the variety shop with her head held high. Seventeen followed slowly, more than ready to watch his niece happen to someone else.

* * *

"Can you believe he threw in the incense for free?" Marron crowed as they walked out of the shop. The dragon ball had been wrapped in decorative paper and placed in a shopping bag along with two packs of incense 'on the house.'

"I can't believe you didn't try to get him to throw in the monkey's paw too," Seventeen said, still reeling from seeing his sweet little niece haggle like a fisherman.

"We don't need two wish-granting items," Marron scolded. "Besides, it was probably fake. And it looked really creepy. What did you want it for, anyway?"

"As a back-scratcher," Seventeen said, deadpan.

"Ew!"

Seventeen grinned.

"Well, we have all seven. What now?"

Marron looked up at him, a sense of loss already tickling her stomach.

"Well, we can't call the dragon here," she said slowly. They both looked around at the crowded shopping mall, teeming with all kinds of people, none of whom had woken up this morning prepared to see a dragon appear in the sky. Seventeen nodded in agreement.

"Where should we do it, then?"

Marron thought.

"Let's go home and do it there," she said.

"Are you sure, bug?" Seventeen asked, peering down at her from the corner of his eye. She didn't look sad or homesick, just... determined. She looked up at him, meeting his gaze, and nodded.

"Yeah. Let's go."


	9. Chapter 9

They drove down a scenic coastline, pristine blue ocean on one side and small, scruffy hillside on the other, both of them quiet for the first few hours. Seventeen broke the silence after they passed through a large city and were back out on the open highway. "I hope you've decided on what to wish for, bug. We'll be there before nightfall."

Marron felt a jolt of panic similar to having forgotten to study for a test.

"I still can't decide," she wailed. "There's so many possibilities. Now I understand why Oolong wished for panties!"

Seventeen laughed.

"Well, I know your mom would kill you if you didn't at least wish for some money."

Her mom. Money. Marron felt an idea sparking in her brain, and when her uncle started to say something else she shushed him, not noticing the amused smirk on his face. Marron was sure her parents thought she didn't know, but she had seen the enormous credit card bills they were still paying down. When they thought she was asleep they would speak of the future, grand dreams of a house of their own, a nice school for their daughter, two cars, closets full of clothes; but always these dreams were accompanied with the caveat of "when we finally get out of debt." She even knew the approximate number of that debt and the cost of a house like the one they dreamed of buying. Counting on her fingers, she did some math and finally turned to her uncle, grinning broadly.

"I'm going to wish for 345,297,680 zeni," she said, and frowned when her uncle gave her a skeptical eyebrow.

"That's a pretty specific number," he pointed out.

"You're right, I guess," she said, a little let down that he wasn't sharing her enthusiasm. "I could just wish for 350."

"What are you going to do with that much money?" he inquired a little incredulously. She looked at him haughtily.

"Not me. My parents."

The look he gave her was part surprise, part something else. She gazed back defiantly until he turned back to the road.

"That's really thoughtful of you, Marron," he said, and he didn't seem to be teasing her at all. She quietly amended her wish to 400 million zeni, the extra 50 mil for her uncle who, she suddenly realized, probably didn't exactly have a healthy bank account either.

"I think I'll leave the other wish for emergencies," she finished. Seventeen nodded. She kicked her feet against her seat, watching the palm trees slide by.

"What would you wish for?" she asked. He tilted his head, thoughtful.

"I don't really know," he admitted. "I've been thinking about it, but there's nothing the dragon can give me that I don't already have."

"Really?" Marron had seen his house. She was pretty sure there was plenty the dragon could give him.

"I'm a simple guy with simple needs," he said, a smile twitching in the corner of his mouth. He glanced down at Marron. "Besides, I've already gotten the thing I was hoping to get."

She stared at him, puzzled.

"What?"

His smile spread to the rest of his mouth.

"Nothing," he said, looking steadfastly at the road. And no matter how much Marron wheedled and prodded, he wouldn't tell her what it was.

* * *

Her parents were surprised to see her, but she was more surprised to see Kame House swarming with people.

"What's everyone doing here?" she asked her father, who looked a little sheepish.

"We were going to throw you a surprise party for when you got back. We were checking the dragon radar and we noticed you had gathered them all. We didn't expect you to come back here with them, though."

Marron fingered the bag holding the dragon balls in her hand, not sure how to feel. Goku was being directed by Bulma to hoist something up on a stage. Trunks was holding Bra and wheedling his mother to let him give her back, and Goten was offering to take her instead. Yamcha gave her a wave from where he was helping set out drink cups. Marron gave him a weak wave in return.

"Bulma said she'd try to restrain herself," Krillin added in a mock whisper. "But that's the karaoke stage and I think she's got a caterer coming, so we can see how that turned out."

Marron laughed, and Krillin was pleased at how unrestrained it was. He looked up at Seventeen, and they shared a look, both pleased that Marron was no longer the moody, listless child she'd been a few weeks prior.

"What are you going to wish for?" Krillin went on. Marron gave him a secret smile.

"It's a surprise," she told him, and then went off to say hi to Trunks. Krillin watched her go, smiling fondly, as she went up to him and held her arms out for Bra. Trunks gave his little sister over, opting to chat with Marron instead of annoying his mother. Krillin's happiness faded to alarm as he noticed Marron twirling one pigtail around her finger while swaying in place, Bra unnoticed in the other arm.

"She, uh, doesn't have a crush on him, does she?" he asked his brother-in-law. Seventeen took on an affected air of distant uninterest.

"I really couldn't say," he said in a manner which all but confirmed it. Krillin let out a noisy breath and shook his head, filing that information away for later.

"I see she came back with all her limbs still attached," Eighteen said dryly, coming up behind them. Seventeen rolled his eyes.

"We were just looking for the dragon balls. What did you think was going to happen?"

Eighteen rolled her eyes right back and did not dignify that with a response.

When Bulma finally noticed Marron and Seventeen's arrival she put a halt to party preparations and let Marron summon the dragon, whispering the phrase to her so she could say it herself. Everyone in attendance could not help but smile as Marron's eyes lit up and her mouth dropped open to see Shenron appear in all his glory. For once everyone remembered how impressive Shenron was to someone who didn't see him on a regular basis.

"SPEAK YOUR WISH, AND IT SHALL BE GRANTED," Shenron boomed. Marron gulped hard, but there was no way she was chickening out now, especially not in front of all these people.

"I wish for four hundred million zeni!" she said. There was a long pause, which gave her time to be nervous (would the dragon actually grant such a simple wish? Would everyone think her wish was dumb?), but eventually a thick stack of bills fluttered out of the sky to land at her feet.

"IT IS DONE," Shenron said. "NOW, WHAT IS YOUR SECOND WISH?"

For a brief second Marron was struck by the endless possibilities before her, but since she had barely been able to decide on the wish of 'lots of money' in a month's time, she demurred.

"No other wish for now," she said.

"VERY WELL," Shenron said, and disappeared in a flash of golden light, all seven balls she had worked so hard to gather flying off in different directions.

Marron bent down to pick up the large wad of money, holding it in her hands and just reveling, for a brief moment, in the feeling of nervous excitement that comes from holding a large amount of money. Then she flipped the stack in her fingers until she counted out fifty million and handed it to her uncle.

"There," she said. "For you."

The shock on his face was not the happy gratitude she'd been hoping for, so she quickly turned away and held out the rest of it to her parents.

"Here," she said, her stomach doing somersaults for reasons she couldn't guess at. It was just her parents. What was there to be nervous about? "This is for you guys."

Her parents looked at each other, and then back at her, totally nonplussed and a little shocked. She held it out further, willing them to take it. Krillin did, his movements slow with amazement.

"You're not going to keep it?" he asked, and Marron let out a nervous laugh.

"What would I do with that much money?" she asked, though secretly she was a little mad at herself for not having thought to peel off at least a ten thousand note for herself before handing the rest over. Her father looked up at her mother again, but Eighteen was staring at Marron with a peculiar expression on her face. It was a very particular expression, one Marron had always assumed was a kind of distant annoyance. It turned something over in her stomach to realize it was actually uncertainty.

"But Marron..." Her father trailed off, and then found his voice again. "Marron, what did you think we were going to do with that much money?"

Marron tucked one of her bangs behind her ear in a gesture so much like one of her mother's it made Krillin ache a little. She fidgeted, unwilling to speak aloud in public things her parents hadn't even wanted her to hear.

"You know," she mumbled, "the credit card and stuff. The house. You know."

Again her parents looked at each other, dismayed.

"You weren't supposed to know about that," her mother said, her voice faint. Marron rolled her eyes.

"I'm not dumb, mom," she said softly.

She would have gone on, but she was beginning to be really afraid that her parents were displeased, and she couldn't figure out why. When Krillin leaned forward and pulled her into a tight hug it was almost a relief, despite the automatic embarrassment. She squirmed a little, but made herself stay in her father's arms, for his sake. Eighteen met her eyes over Krillin's shoulder and gave her a small, rare smile, the one that meant, I'm proud of you. Marron was relieved to see she hadn't been wrong about that one.


	10. Chapter 10

After the mushy stuff was over Bulma declared the party to be in full swing, and, indeed, it was not long before the caterer showed up, babbling about a bizarre weather phenomenon where the sky had turned black. Bulma handed him a wad of bills almost as big as Marron's to shut him up.

Marron made up with Yamcha over a Shirley Temple (for her) and a gin and tonic (for him), handed the dragon radar back to Bulma, giggled to herself upon seeing Seventeen flirting with one of the caterers, and spent most of the party following Trunks around. During a quiet moment sitting on the steps of Kame House, Goten off entertaining Bra (which mostly consisted of her pulling his hair), Marron asked Trunks how he was doing. He turned to her with a look on his face that made her blush, though she didn't know why.

"We're doing okay," he said eventually, looking back out at the ocean. Marron was relieved to have that look directed elsewhere, but also disappointed. It was intense, and its intensity was both discomfiting and invigorating. He'd seemed to be searching for something right at the bottoms of her eyes, and she had no idea what he'd found or how he felt about it.

"That's good," she said, looking down into her Shirley Temple, feeling strangely shy.

They sat in silence until Goten returned, demanding that Trunks take back his sister. He stood, and he and Goten took Bra elsewhere, leaving Marron on the steps of Kame House, feeling a heavy kind of happiness she wasn't sure the name for. She noticed Seventeen across the beach, watching her, and she gave him a smile and a wave. He walked over, setting himself down in the spot Trunks had just vacated.

"How about this party, huh?" he asked. "If this is the kind of shindig Bulma puts on to celebrate a road trip maybe I should try to hang out with her more often."

"Dad says Bulma treats money like a fish treats water," Marron told him, though she had never quite understood the comparison. It made Seventeen laugh, though, so she must have used it right.

"Hey, bug," he said, and then paused, unsure how to phrase what he wanted to say. He shook his head helplessly and continued. "Why did you give me that money?"

Marron shrugged uncomfortably.

"It felt like you should get  _something_  from the dragon. The whole thing was your idea."

"Yeah, but..." Seventeen had no idea how to express the feeling of being condescended to so unwittingly by someone decades his junior. He knew she thought he was poor, but the truth was, even aside from not actually needing food or shelter to survive, he just didn't care about things very much. Experiences were all you could take with you when you died, after all, and he had been hoping to gift Marron with an experience she would never forget. His original plan had been to take her mind off the idea that she was somehow abnormal because her friends and family all happened to be insanely powerful martial artists, and while he certainly seemed to have accomplished that, he'd gotten a lot more in the bargain. The idea that she felt like she owed him something when he'd received so much from her didn't sit well.

"Well, you said you didn't know what to wish for," Marron was saying. "You said you already got what you wanted, but I still don't know what you were talking about."

Seventeen smiled, and tousled her hair.

"I got to hang out with you," he said.

She stared at him in naked disbelief.

"Uncle, that's the sappiest thing I've ever heard you say."

He started to reply, but a shadow fell over both of them, and they looked up to find Vegeta, arms folded, looking out at the ocean pensively.

"I feel I still owe you something, girl," he said in a low voice meant only for Marron. She stood slowly. Seventeen stayed seated, fascinated to see where this went.

"You mean for..." Marron wasn't quite sure what words she wanted to use. "For startling you in your sleep?"

Vegeta gave her an odd look.

"For that, and for causing you to break your hand. That's twice over I have caused you unintentional harm, and I cannot allow that to stand."

Marron thought hard. Vegeta, Bulma's scary husband, Trunks' space murderer father, felt like he owed her. It was almost like having another wish on the dragon. Honestly, she'd thought the was matter over and done with when her mother had given Vegeta a black eye. That reminded her...

"You really want to make it up to me?" Marron asked, looking up at Vegeta with a sly smile on her face. He nodded tersely. "And you'll do anything I say?"

"Within reason," he warned. Marron smiled oh so sweetly.

"Then all you have to do is go over there and shake my mom's hand."

Vegeta grunted in shock, his arms uncrossing and hanging down by his sides. He gave Marron a piercing stare, trying to determine if there was some trickery afoot.

"That's―but I―you can't―"

"You  _said_  you wanted to make it up to me," Marron reminded him sweetly. "If you do that, then we're even."

"That is not what I had in mind," Vegeta told her firmly. Marron placed her hands on her hips.

"What, you wanted me to try punching you again? Even if I didn't break my hand this time, it wouldn't change anything."

Girl and Saiyan stared each other down, and to Seventeen's amazement, the Saiyan looked away first.

"Fine. I just have to shake her hand? I don't have to... say anything?"

"Yup. Actually, all  _you_  have to do is offer to shake. It's up to her if she takes your hand or not."

Vegeta squared his shoulders and gave Marron one last piercing glance. Seventeen really hoped Marron stopped trying to poke the tiger after this.

Marron followed Vegeta at a distance as he strode across the beach to where her mother stood. He faced her square on and thrust out his hand, the gesture more like a challenge than an invitation. Eighteen stared at it with hostility. Marron nudged her.

"Go on, mom, he wants to shake." Eighteen gave her daughter an incredulous stare. Marron saw that stare, and raised it two puppy dog eyes. "Pleeeease?"

After a long moment, Eighteen sighed exasperatedly and put out her hand, head turned away as though she couldn't stand to shake Vegeta's hand  _and_  look him in the eye. They clasped hands for one brief second, their grips both painfully tight, and then they each dropped the others' hand as though it were on fire. Marron beamed.

"There," she said to Vegeta. "Now we're even."

"You are not," her mother informed her, even more incredulous at this. "He―"

"Mom, I said we're even," Marron interrupted, looking her mother in the eye. It had been a strange epiphany, to find out her mother was scared of things. She needed her to understand that this was something she didn't need to be afraid of anymore. Eighteen held her gaze, surprised at the determination in her daughter's eyes. Something had changed during that road trip, and she wasn't sure how she felt about it yet. After a moment, she, too, lost a staring contest with Marron.

"If you say so," she said, looking anywhere but at Vegeta. He was still right in front of her, watching the scene with open amusement. Marron gave both of them big grins and skipped off to rejoin her uncle. Eighteen and Vegeta made brief, awkward eye contact and then moved away to stand next to their respective spouses. They would have been surprised to know they were having similar feelings, surprise tinged with a bittersweet pride.

Krillin took his wife's hand and together they watched Marron grab her uncle's arm and drag him over to the impromptu volleyball court someone had set up. Trunks and Goten were already there, spiking the ball to each other over and over, but when Marron and Seventeen arrived, they joined forces and began to play an actual two-on-two match. Marron was by far the worst player on the court, but though it was clear she was aware of this fact, it also didn't seem to be dampening her fun.

"I think our daughter grew up while we weren't looking," Krillin said, and Eighteen squeezed his hand in agreement.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I first had the idea to write about Marron when I realized she was literally the only person in the entire main cast of Dragonball that could count as a civilian, and back before Super it seemed like she was going to spend her whole life on that island. Those ideas together seemed so lonely and isolating to me, and before I knew it I had written almost 30,000 words about this normal little girl living on the fringes of a fighting anime. 
> 
> One of my main goals as a fan fiction writer is always to stay as true to the characters as I possibly can, and this has been extra challenging with Marron because, strictly speaking, she isn't a character at all: her function in the story is simply to be a symbol of Krillin and Eighteen’s relationship. Consequently, I put a lot of myself at that age into her, and it's been a delight to see people react so positively to her.
> 
> Now that the story is over I would love to hear what you thought of it as a whole. Even if you don't leave feedback, please know that I appreciate every single one of you. Thank you.


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